All That I Am
by SylvieT
Summary: This story is the sequel to A Crime Too Far. It's a story of friendship and love, healing and rediscovery, a story of hope and determination to succeed against all odds, and I can promise it won't be as bleak or as sad as its predecessor. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the sequel to _A Crime Too Far_. You don't need to have read the story to read this one, but I guess it would help if you read the first and final two chapters. The rest will become clear as the story unfolds. This is a story of love, healing and rediscovery, a story of hope and determination to succeed against all odds, and I can promise it won't be as bleak or as sad as its predecessor.

As always, reviews, ideas and suggestions are greatly welcomed, cherished and appreciated, and a great source of comfort and encouragement.

Thank you.

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><p>All That I Am.<p>

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><p>Ignoring the large DOCTOR stencilled in white on the tarmac Catherine screeched her wheels to a halt in the only available spot in the lot and killed the engine. Unbuckling her seatbelt she shifted forward on the seat and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. It had been a long night, another one in a succession of long shifts, and it was showing on her face. Nightshift was down two, and she hadn't had a proper night off in longer than she cared to remember. Not that she was complaining, and she would do her very best to be supportive and hold the fort for Grissom as long as was necessary, both as his right-hand and as his friend.<p>

She let out a long sigh and took a moment to ruffle her hair back into shape and wipe her thumb and index finger over the corners of her mouth before grabbing her purse from the passenger seat which she shouldered while exiting her silver SUV. The heat outside was stifling, and it was barely ten am. She pushed the cuff of her leather jacket back, quickly checking the time wishing that for once she could have clocked off on time.

Beeping her car shut she scanned her eye over the red-bricked low-rise building in front of her, located the visitors' entrance below an expensive sign that read, _Torrey Pines Care Centre, part of the Kindred Healthcare network for short and long-term acute rehabilitation,_ and trotted her way in. She slipped her sunglasses off, threading them through her hair as she pushed through the glass doors into the reception area. Immediately she spotted the security guard in his starched brown uniform standing slightly back from the doors and Grissom leaning with his back to her on the reception counter.

"Hey," she said, joining his side, her arm wrapping around his shoulder affectionately.

Grissom looked up and round from the admission papers he was signing and smiled a small but genuinely glad-to-see-her purse of his lips. The bruising on his nose was all but gone now, the cuts less visible, and yet she couldn't help note that the lines on his face were more pronounced, the circles under his eyes darker, the shadows in his blue gaze sad and lacklustre. His hair, seemingly greyer, needed cutting, as did his beard. It was almost a month since the attack on Sara, and he had aged ten years.

Her smile quivered a little as he studied him; her hand moved to his left arm and she stroked up and down caringly. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I really wanted to be here when you both got here." She let her words trail off with a wide smile, her 'but' remaining unsaid as they both knew the reason for her lateness. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and a pat before awkwardly pulling him into a loose hug mindful of the plaster cast still encasing his right arm.

"It's okay, Cath," he said, pulling away, finding his voice at last, "I appreciate you covering for me like that."

She nodded, waving his comment aside with a smile. "You look good," she enthused, but Grissom's headshake called her up on her lie and she laughed. "The journey went well?" she enquired instead, her brow rising. "Brass said you rode down with her in the ambulance?"

"They made an exception," he said evasively.

"I'll bet," she replied knowingly. "So how is she?"

His face closed off a little, his tone on the weary side as he answered, "She's…doing okay. There isn't much change in her condition really."

"Gil…"

He shook his head at her interruption, adding with forced cheeriness, "The trip down went without complication, and thankfully she slept for most of it." He bent over, wincing in pain as he absently rubbed the back of his left calf. "They're…settling her into her room now. They thought it'd be better if I stayed away." Watching him with concern as he straightened up Catherine nodded her head. "We can go see her in a little while," he finished distractedly, restless eyes scanning the vicinity of the front desk as he spoke.

"The guys wanted to come, you know, welcome her back," she went on to fill the silence that had settled between them, "but I thought it might be too much too soon."

Grissom didn't respond; he just turned away, his face darkening with annoyance as he searched the small crowd around them. He was clearly in pain and becoming restless at the delay and Catherine cast a quick look around the place, looking for somewhere quieter for them to sit while they waited.

"This place is nice," she said warmly, noticing a sitting area a little to the side. _And not cheap,_ her look added.

Grissom's shoulder lifted, his eyes clouding with sadness. "It's not home," he said.

Catherine's smile faltered. "No, it's not." She looked down to the white tiled floor and then back up again, forcing a brightness she was far from feeling. "It's still early days. Think back to two weeks ago and, god, this is…" she took a breath, her smile widening as she searched for the right words.

"A miracle," he finished for her. "I know but…well, it's just…" he blinked and shrugged and looked away uncomfortably.

Catherine took his left hand and the papers he was clutching and led him to the sitting area. Noticing he had trouble keeping up with her she slowed down her pace a fraction as she remembered that he too had suffered terrible injuries at the hands of McKay and her _boys._ Sighing she perched on the edge of the red couch while Grissom tried to make himself comfortable on the matching armchair across from her. His hand discreetly moved to his left leg, and he winced as he rubbed at it.

"Are you still on painkillers?" she asked forthrightly.

Caught out he looked up with a start, and shook his head. "I stopped. It's okay really, only just a dull ache. I've been on my feet too long, that's all."

Catherine gave him an unconvinced nod of the head. "Have you had breakfast?" she continued, unrelenting. "I'm sure I can find you something here."

"I'm okay. I just want to…" Looking fretful, he glanced back over his shoulder toward the front desk.

"It won't be for much longer," she said appeasingly.

He swivelled back toward her and nodded. She gave him news of Hank, and Lindsey, telling him how much better she was doing in her new school now. She told him about the lab, about some of the more interesting cases, but she could tell he was only half-listening to her. Every now and then he would cast furtive glances over his shoulder and check the front desk.

She stopped talking abruptly, a fact which didn't register with him at all. "Do you want to swap seats?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement.

He gave himself a shake of the head, and refocused his attention on her. "Would you?"

"Sure," she laughed, getting to her feet and waiting for him to do the same to take his place. "There, that's better," she cooed. "At least now, you can pretend to be looking at me while I'm rabbiting on when in fact you're checking out the pretty nurses."

Grissom did a double take, his eyes widening with fright. "Oh, I wasn't looking at-"

"Relax, Gil," she cut in pleasantly, "I'm only messing with you."

"Oh," he said giving her a distracted half-smile, his eyes once again flicking briefly toward the front desk.

Catherine heaved a sigh and shook her head. "How are you doing, really?" she asked at last.

He snapped his gaze back to hers, looking at her with puzzlement. "I'm fine."

"Your legs?"

"They wouldn't have discharged me if they weren't okay."

"What about the rest of you?" Catherine tried again. "You've been through a terrible ordeal – both emotionally and physically."

"I'm fine," he cut in impatiently.

Catherine chuckled uneasily. "Generally, that's Sara's retort of choice."

His mouth pursed to the side. "Well, it's not a bad line, and generally it does the trick."

"Not convincingly, no." Shifting forward on her chair she uncrossed her legs and reached for her purse. She pulled out a set of keys and tossed them on the low table separating them. "Listen, Gil," she said, sitting back in the armchair, "I had my cleaning lady clean and tidy your house. It's all ready for you to move back into."

Grissom's brow shot up. He stared at the keys on the table uncertainly as though he wasn't recognising them, then lifted puzzled eyes to her and shook his head. "Thank you. I…" He stopped suddenly, and shrugged. His eyes were telling her all he could never voice out loud, all she needed to know. That he didn't want to return to the townhouse, to Sara's things, to his old life, _their_ old life, without her.

"I want you to come live with me," she said with a soft smile. His eyes lowered to his lap and she sighed. "With Lindsey and me. Lily will be there too, part of the time anyway. We have the space, and we could look after you. We could look after you while you look after Sara." She paused waiting for him to look up to smile and say, "One man and his dog, huh?"

"I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Does it matter?"

"Why not?" she asked challengingly. "I know you value your independence, and I promise not to act all mother hen with you. You can have your own key and come and go as you please. You can spend as much or as little time at the house as you wish and I won't say a word." His mouth pursed to the side with disbelief at her claim. "But please," she went on earnestly, "let me do this for you. As your friend."

Grissom's mouth opened, ready with his refusal but she raised her hand, silencing him. "I tell you what. I won't take no as an answer. Actually," she shifted forward on the chair and snatched the keys off the table, "I'm confiscating these. I'm keeping them until _you_ tell me you're ready to go back. Until _you_ask for them."

"You're already doing a lot for me Catherine," Grissom said uneasily.

"I'm not taking no," she sing-sang with a growing smile, causing his lips to purse with amusement.

His smile faded suddenly, his eyes veering off to a point beyond her shoulder. Worry filled his features and he pushed up to his feet. "Sara's okay?" he asked nervously.

Catherine turned to look over her shoulder and gathering her purse quickly rose to her feet. Immediately her eyes dropped to the man's ID badge clipped to the breast pocket of his suit jacket pocket. Armani, Catherine remarked with an appraising purse of her mouth as she read his name and title.

The doctor gave them both a wide smile and a vigorous nod of the head in reply to Grissom's original question. "She's absolutely fine, Mr Grissom," he said with a warm smile. "Her transfer went as smoothly as could be expected. She's on minimum oxygen now and off her sedation. She woke up briefly, and asked about you. We told her you'd be in shortly."

Relief washed over Grissom's face and he blew out a long breath. The doctor's gaze flicked to Catherine and she extended her hand warmly. "Dr Williamson. I'm Catherine Willows," she said as they shook hands, "I'm a friend of Grissom and Sara's."

Grissom threw Catherine a grateful look. "I'm…I'm going to be staying with her for the foreseeable future."

Catherine's returning smile was fond and pleasurable and she reached for his hand, squeezing the tip of his fingers warmly.

"Make sure you leave all your contact details with reception," Dr Williamson said, "In case of emergency."

"Of course," Grissom replied gravely. Catherine's hand withdrew from his, and she moved it to pull out the sunglasses slipping from the top of her head.

The doctor swayed on his feet and checked his watch. "I'll check on Sara again myself late afternoon but we don't anticipate any problems. Tomorrow we'll start assessing her needs, and we'll discuss a customised treatment plan. As for now, she needs plenty of rest so keep your visit and the chitchat to a minimum."

"Of course."

"Do you remember which room she's in?"

Grissom looked at the forms in his hand, and then back up to the doctor, nodding. He took a breath. "Her mother and I have signed Sara's care over to you and your team-"

"She's in the best hands," the doctor cut in eagerly, holding Grissom's gaze levelly. Then he paused, hesitating with his next words. "It's going to be a long and arduous journey, Mr Grissom, for both you and Sara. But I'm sure you already realise that." He flashed a reassuring smile. "The steps to a recovery of sorts will be small and slow, but they will be monumental, I can promise you that."

Grissom's answering nod was resolute. "Thank you."

Catherine watched as with a parting smile and a clasp of Grissom's shoulder Dr Williamson turned his back on them.

"He seems friendly enough," she remarked as she watched him stop to talk to a nurse.

Grissom hummed. "Let's hope his reputation's not all hype," he replied, setting off across the vestibule.

Her head shaking in amusement, Catherine took off after him. As an afterthought he made a sharp turn, stopping by the front desk to hand in Sara's admission documents. She couldn't help roll her eyes as he painstakingly made sure the clerk had _all_ his contact numbers and after being handed a key card to gain access to Sara's room they made their way to a corridor that opened off the back of the reception area.

Catherine counted six closed doors on either side of it and then he stopped. There was no sound except for the quiet humming of the air conditioning unit above their heads. No nurses or aides in sight, but Catherine smiled as she noticed the tiny black ball of a security camera in one corner at the opposite end of the corridor. Idly she wondered if security was one of the reasons Grissom had chosen this place.

Noticing his hesitation Catherine put her hand to his shoulder. "I'll wait out here," she said. "Take your time with her, but afterwards I want to take you out for breakfast – or lunch." She flashed him a smile. "But only when you're ready."

After giving the door a quiet knock he inserted the card, heard the tell-tale unlocking sound and lowered the handle. "Come and say hello first, please," he bid quietly, pushing the door open.

Catherine nodded, the pleasure at his offer evident in her face, and followed him inside. The room was in partial darkness, the blinds pulled diffusing the harsh Nevada light. It was nicely decorated, if characterless, but spacious and cool, perfunctory, she summed up with a pang of sadness.

Grissom crossed the room to the bed, immediately taking Sara's hand that was resting atop the cover in his and bringing it to his lips. He closed his eyes and whispered something Catherine didn't catch. She shut the door quietly and made her way to the bed, standing slightly back, feeling superfluous and intrusive as she watched his interaction with her.

Sara was sleeping, looking serene and at peace, long strand of brown hair framing her face ethereally. Gone was the thick bandage around her head that Catherine remembered from the last time she'd seen the younger woman, more than two weeks previously. Gone was the life-support machine pumping air into her lungs, and more importantly maybe, gone was the overwhelming sense of gloom that had permeated all around when Sara's life still hung in the balance.

She was wearing a white hospital gown and Catherine made a mental note to pop to the townhouse to fetch her some clothes and personal effects. Grissom too, she thought with a smile, glad that he'd found it in him to accept her offer to stay with her. His words spoken to the team straight after the attack came back to her, and with a wary glance toward him she blinked back sudden tears.

A deep sadness suddenly filled her as she thought that her life, his life – their lives as a couple had been irremediably changed. Changed, but not cut short. Belatedly she noticed the ring on Sara's finger and she smiled as she remembered Brass's account of the makeshift hospital room wedding and how almost tearful the gruff detective had been on the phone as he regaled her with the details.

She flicked her gaze to Sara's face, hiding her sorrow behind a quivering smile, and cleared her throat. "When's Laura getting here?"

Grissom's eyes snapped open, full of tears, and Catherine turned away finding it increasingly difficult to keep a lid on her own emotion. From the corner of her eye she saw him wipe at his eyes self-consciously and lower Sara's hand from his face.

"Not until tomorrow, I think," he replied at last, turning to make eye contact with her. He smiled, and she realised that the tears he'd just shed weren't tears of sadness but ones of joy now that he was back by Sara's side. "She had a few things to take care off in Reno first."

Catherine nodded, saying, "I'll swing by the townhouse on my way home. Get you and Sara some clothes and stuff."

He nodded his thanks, and refocused his attention on Sara's face. "She should wake soon," he said, "Wait a little longer with me."

"It's okay," she said, all thoughts of shouting him breakfast out of her mind. Her hand moved to his shoulder and she squeezed it. "I ought to go. I'll catch up with Sara tomorrow." She paused, and watched him while he watched Sara. "I'm glad you've agreed to stay with me, Gil, thank you."

He gave her a distracted nod of the head, as though he'd barely registered her words. Her hand lingered on his shoulder a while longer, her eyes flicking from his profile to Sara's face, and she smiled tightly, her head shaking as tears rose prickling the back of her eyes. She lifted on her tiptoes and softly kissed his cheek.

"Don't worry about me," Grissom said as she pulled away. A smile broke across his face. There was love and hope shining in his eyes now, and in his heart, and her tears finally spilling Catherine nodded at him. "She's still here with us; that's all that matters. The rest will take care of itself, I know it."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The response to the first chapter was simply overwhelming. Thank you very much for all the 'glads' and 'happys' about the fact that I've decided to continue with this storyline, however heartbreaking it is.

This chapter is written from Sara's point of view and I hope you'll think I got her voice right in the circumstance. Let me know if I didn't and remember that her speech is impaired and that what she says isn't necessarily what Grissom hears.

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><p>"Call me when you're ready to go home," the female voice said in a hushed, caring whisper, "I'll come pick you up. Hank'll be pleased to see his daddy again, that's for sure. He's missed you." There was a pause. "He's missed both of you."<p>

The woman's words spoken so warmly, so intimately to Grissom caused a pang of sadness to shoot through Sara's heart. She knew the woman had to be Catherine, and yet a voice that should have been familiar sounded completely new to her and all she knew of Catherine was what little Grissom had unknowingly told her. And she'd mentioned Hank. A deep sense of frustration and helplessness filled her.

The door to her room opened and shut and Sara's eyes blinked open almost immediately, staring directly into Grissom's sad, watery ones. He was clutching her hand to his cheek. Instinctively her mouth formed into a smile. "Gilbert," she said.

His face softened with love, his hand tightening its grip around hers. "Hey," he said back, smiling as he blinked his tears away. His voice was as soft, warm and loving as his smile.

"You're here."

"I'm never far. Welcome back to Vegas, sweetheart."

Smiling tenderly he leaned over and she closed her eyes as gentle lips pressed to her forehead. Immediately a feeling of wellbeing and belonging filled her alleviating some of her worst fears and worries about being back in Vegas. She had hoped that her amnesia was only temporary, that by now her memory would have returned and with it the past eight years of her life, but so far nothing. She hadn't dared tell the doctors about it lest they told Grissom and broke his heart.

She had a life there, friends and a job that she simply did not remember. How could she not remember any of it? How could she not remember her life with him? How could she not remember _him_? A man that made her feel so much, a man that felt so much for her in return. Should she own up to the pretence now and risk that he turned his back on her, taking with him his love for her, her only certainty and lifeline?

He pulled back from her and she reopened her eyes. His left hand moved to her cheek and he gently wiped at a tear that had gathered by her ear. "You're in pain?" he asked softly. "You want me to call someone?"

Sara managed a weak shake of the head on the pillow, and a hesitant smile. Her gaze darted around the room as she took in her new surroundings, her new home for the foreseeable future. _Home_, she thought sadly. How long until she'd be allowed out of the centre to her real home?

"It's the best place in Nevada for rehabilitation," he said as though reading her thoughts, "with the best care, the best facilities, therapies and treatments."

She brought her eyes back to his face. "Thank you," she said, as she pondered where all the money to pay for it all would come from.

He flashed an uncomfortable smile, which soon pinched into a thin, slightly quavering line and his gaze flicked up to a point above the bed. "Catherine's just been," he said after a beat, lowering his eyes back to hers. "She'll call again tomorrow. She said she'd pop by the house to get some things for you."

Sara's face creased with a frown. "Not you?"

Sadness filled his eyes and he shook his head, and Sara was left wondering why that was. "You're thirsty?" he asked, cutting into her thoughts.

Sara followed his gaze, noticing the cup and straw and jug of water on the sliding trey by the bed and realising he desperately needed something to keep busy with gave him a small nod in reply. She watched as he tried to pick up the jug with his right hand before reaching for it with his left one. A quiet giggle escaped her when he missed the cup, spilling water on the table.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked, laughing and shaking his head as he turned toward her with the cup. He paused and watched her fondly for a moment before bringing the straw to her lips, adding good-humouredly, "We make a right pair, don't we?"

Sara's brow lifted. "Huh, you think?" she retorted dryly. He nudged the straw to her lips and she stopped smiling long enough to take a couple of small sips.

"You okay really?" he asked as he returned the cup to the trey.

Short of words Sara pulled her lips into the biggest smile she could manage, and nodded. Tears unexpectedly welled in his eyes causing her grin to fade uncertainly and her lip to wobble. His eyes intent on her mouth, he slowly lifted his hand to it, shaky fingers touching her lips tentatively, caressing over them ever so gently, ever so lightly, ever so lovingly, as they traced their contour.

Oh, how she longed for that touch on the rest of her body. His fingers on her lips felt familiar and loved and missed. It was as though he was reacquainting himself with an old friend or maybe, Sara thought with sudden fear, as though he was discovering them for the very first time.

Her eyes narrowed quizzically as she watched the myriad of emotions reflected in his eyes, but he didn't notice so absorbed he was on studying her lips, on feeling them with his fingertips. He didn't say a word. He merely smiled that wistful far-away smile of his before withdrawing his hand silently. His eyes met hers again, full of love and wonderment, and once again Sara was left wondering.

There was so much he wasn't telling her; so much she was so desperate to know. Questions formed in her eyes, questions she was too afraid to voice lest his answer was a lie. The tender loving smile never left his lips.

Sara took a breath and closed her eyes, concentrating on forming her words into longer sentences. "Can you sit me up, please? I want to talk," she said, before swallowing with frustration. She could tell from the way he was staring at her that her words hadn't come out as they had sounded to her ear. "Sit up," she tried again.

His eyes suddenly rounded with surprise and he smiled uneasily. "I don't know, Sara. I was told you needed to rest."

"I'm not tired," she said.

Grissom let out a small sigh. His eyes were soft and full of compassion.

"Please," her eyes pleaded, breaking the last of his resolve.

Grissom glanced toward the door hesitantly. "I'll…huh…bring the head of the bed up just a little, okay?" he said, turning back to her and casting a quick look around for the remote operating the bed. He raised the head up a little, moved her pillow and straightened her up into a more comfortable position. "Is that okay? It's not too much?"

Sara shook her head, and wet her lips with her tongue. Instinctively she tried to reach out her hand to him but her brain didn't pass on the command. _Soon_, she told herself impatiently. "You look tired," she said, "and in pain. Why don't you come and sit next to me for a while?"

His eyes flicked down to the bed despondently and then back up to her face. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't get that."

Her returning smile was full of warmth and compassion. "Sit down," she tried again, making herself pause between each word.

"You want me to sit down?" he asked with surprise, already reaching for a chair.

"No," she said sharply, causing him to freeze in his movement. "On the bed."

Grissom frowned, then his face lit up with a smile and he chuckled. "Oh, I get it. I know what you're doing," he said before perching himself on the edge of the bed, facing her.

Smiling she shook her head. "Closer."

His brow rose, his mouth twitching with amusement. "I'm not sure it's allowed, Miss Sidle." He glanced toward the door and shrugged. "Just for a minute, then," he conceded, his smile broadening pleasurably.

He toed off his shoes and climbed on the bed next to her, half-sitting half-lying on the very edge, shoulder to shoulder. Smiling Sara leaned her head against his shoulder and tried to move her hand toward him but she knew it was futile. As if reading her intention he slid his hand to her lap, his fingers finding their rightful place through hers.

Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath at the deep feeling of bliss that coursed through her. "Let's talk," she said after a moment of sitting together in silent companionship.

"Talk?" he exclaimed in a disbelieving chuckle.

Unfazed and resolute Sara nodded. "About Hank," she said.

She had been trying to find the courage to ask him about Hank every day ever since she had woken up. Could they really have a child? It went against every one of her basic instincts, and yet… Could she be a mother and not know? Not feel it? Was Hank a baby? Is that why Catherine was looking after him, and not Grissom? Is that why he hadn't brought him in to visit her?

"Hank?" Grissom repeated with surprise.

She opened her eyes and turned toward him. He was watching her. "I want you to bring him in."

He paused and she could tell he was trying to work out what she'd said. "You want me to bring him in?" he asked, his eyes suddenly glinting with mischief. "Oh, honey, I'd love to but I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's not allowed," he said in a chuckle.

Sara frowned. Were the doctors worried about infection? She wasn't infectious, was she? Unless of course they were worried she would be the one to be infected. "But I want to see him," she insisted. "And I know you've not seen him either since the accident because-"

"Wow, slow down," he said, the laughter in his voice becoming uneasy. "One word at a time, hey? You're going too fast for me."

Sara took in a breath and nodded. "You don't miss him?" she asked, pausing to give him time to catch up with her speech.

Grissom looked down to his legs uncomfortably and Sara studied the changes in his expression. "Gilbert?" she prompted after a moment.

His head whipped round toward her, his gaze anxious, dark and remote, causing Sara to swallow back her sudden dread. "Hank was with you when you got hurt," he said curtly, almost angrily. He must have read the fear in her eyes because his tone softened immediately, becoming contrite. "I'm sorry, honey," he said, shifting on the bed. His left hand moved to the side of her neck and he pressed his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"You're angry."

Pulling back from her he curled his lip into a small smile and nodded before looking down self-consciously and picking up her hand. He turned it over and, after studying its palm like a fortune teller would, began stroking slow gentle circles around it with his index finger.

Sara repressed an involuntary shiver at his touch, a shiver that ran all the way to her chest and shoulders. Her heartbeat quickened immediately. There it was again, the light tingling, the tickling scrape of his nail on her skin. She watched his finger move over her palm, hoping, praying that this was it. That she was finally beginning to regain some kind of sensation to her body. She closed her eyes at the tears of joy threatening to spill.

"Sara, you're alright?" he asked suddenly, his voice full of concern. He dropped her hand and swung his legs off the bed. "I knew we shouldn't have done this. It was a dumb idea."

Sara was smiling at him, positively beaming with excitement inside. "It was my idea."

A half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "It was still a dumb idea."

Sara watched him for a moment debating with herself whether to tell him what had just happened. But what if she was wrong? What if what she had just felt was just wishful thinking on her part? She sighed. "Tell me about Hank," she said slowly after a moment. "Did he get hurt too?"

After a small delay, a look of discomfort flashed through Grissom's eyes and he looked away. "You really don't remember what happened?"

"You know I don't." Hearing the hesitation in his voice she added, "Tell me please. I want to know. I need to know."

He waited a long time before meeting her eyes dead on and nodding. His lips pinched in a thin line and when he spoke his voice was low, a barely audible whisper, and Sara had to concentrate hard to hear him.

"We both had the night off," he said, a smile unexpectedly breaking across his face at the recollection, "a rare occurrence. We'd spent the day at home, sleeping, reading, catching up with jobs, tending the yard, making love." The word caught in his throat, and he took in a fraught breath, his eyes shining with a film of tears. Sara searched his gaze, and he blinked and looked down to their joined hands, refusing to meet her gaze.

"No tears," she said, wishing above everything else at that moment in time that she could wrap her arms around him and comfort him, or simply reach up a hand to his face and wipe the tears from it. "It's okay to tell me. Tell me please how we were that day, how we used to be."

Grissom's head snapped up and he shook his head uncertainly at her. Sara willed herself to be strong and not let herself be disheartened by his lack of understanding. He was close to telling her, she could tell, and he was the key to unlocking her past, the last eight years of her life. Maybe if he told her about the accident it would all come flooding back.

"Tell me," she tried again. "Please."

He watched her for a long time and then gave her a quiet, resolute nod. He took a deep breath through his nose. "I was watching a ball game on the TV when you decided to go for a run. It was late afternoon, a nice day, sunny, warm, carefree, happy. We were happy. You took Hank with you."

A small wistful smile lit his face, replaced almost immediately by a look she could only describe as shame and guilt, and he looked away. Guessing what was coming next Sara closed her eyes. He blamed himself for her accident. All this time, she'd been thinking that she'd been involved in some kind of traffic collision but if that was the case why couldn't he just tell her? Hearing him move she reopened her eyes. He had sat down on the chair and was watching her intently.

"I thought you'd gone to sleep," he said quietly.

She shook her head, her eyes pleading with him to continue.

"Some other time, hey?" he replied over brightly. "I promised Dr Williamson I'd let you rest."

"It's not your fault," Sara said.

He whipped his eyes up, frowning. His head tilted to the side, and he studied her quizzically.

"It's not your fault," she tried again, slower this time. "That I'm like this. It wasn't your fault. You're not to blame."

Blinking Grissom shook his head and shrugged uncertainly. Sara's eyes welled with tears of frustration, but she would not get beaten. She had to make him see that he wasn't to blame for her condition. She blinked and refocused her blurry gaze onto him. He was watching her strangely now, staring straight through her as if he was reading her words directly from the walls in the depth of her mind.

"It is," he said sadly at last. "It is my fault." His hand moved to her face, and he cupped her cheek and smiled. "You asked me to come with you," he went on quietly, choking at the words, "and I didn't. I wanted to watch the game, and you went alone." He swallowed and closed his eyes, his hand increasing the pressure on her face. "And you got hurt and I wasn't there and-"

The anguish in his eyes was devastating. They filled and he turned away from her probing stare. At that moment in time she knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever had happened to her had been horrific enough to traumatize him deeply, him a foremost CSI that should have seen it all, and that he would never be able to bring himself to tell her.

"It's okay," she said, turning her face into his hand. "Don't tell me."

He couldn't have heard her because he met her eye, adding in a small voice, "Hank raised the alarm. He came home to fetch me. I am so sorry, honey. I'm so sorry I wasn't there with you. I should have been with you. I could have helped you, get help sooner."

"You found me?"

"You asked me to come and I said no," he went on earnestly, speaking over her words. "I was watching a ball game. A stupid ball game, and I let you go."

"Did they win?"

Sara's question jolted him out of his despair. "What?"

"Did they win?" she repeated slowly.

He gave her a sad nod in reply. "I let you down Sara. I should have been there to protect you against…" he faltered.

Sara's eyes drifted shut by themselves, and she took a few slow breaths. "Against what?" she asked, forcing her eyes open.

He shook his head and looked away. She could tell he'd already said too much but for her it wasn't enough. She needed the full picture to put all the piece of the puzzle of her life back together. She could tell his guilt, unfounded as it was, was eating away at him. There was so much she wanted to tell him to appease his guilt, so much, but she didn't have the words or the strength to do it now.

"You're here now," she said when he didn't answer.

"Always."

Sleep was claiming the last of her resolve and she could hardly keep her eyes open. "We can get through this," she said weakly. "We'll get through this. But you need to go home now and rest." Pausing she opened her eyes and smiled. "You look awful."

His brow rose. "What did you just say?"

"You look awful," she repeated as clearly as she could but even to her ears now her speech was sounding off.

Grissom burst out laughing. "You don't look awful," he said. "You look beautiful."

She shook her head. "No. You."

"Oh." His face screwed as though he was about to burst into tears and Sara immediately regretted her words but instead he began to laugh, quietly, incredulously at first, and then more heartily. "I love you," he laughed pushing to his feet. "Oh, god, Sara, I love you so much, and I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't changed your mind," he finished, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek.

Sara turned her head so their lips met and she smiled as she felt his lips move against hers as they twitched into a smile. His hand moved to her cheek and he kept his face close to hers for a few moments.

"Sleep tight, my beating heart," he whispered, "Sleep tight. I'll still be here when you wake."


	3. Chapter 3

Brass pulled up at the curb outside Catherine's house and cut the engine. He had the night off, and the first watch. He'd thought about cracking open that bottle of single malt Sara had given him for his last birthday but had quickly decided against it. He'd wondered at the reason behind the gift then – it wasn't something they did – and when he'd asked her about it she'd shrugged her answer off, dazzling him with one of her widest, brightest grins.

His expression saddened at the recollection and he couldn't help wondering now whether Grissom had been behind the gift. Could it have been a test of his detective skills to see whether he had figured them out, a test that he had miserably failed? His cell gave a sudden shrill ring, startling him, and it was with a curt mutter of expletives that he fished it out of his coat pocket and brought it to his ear.

"Brass."

"How could you!"

The detective did a double take, wincing as Catherine's accusation pierced right through his skull, and rubbed a weary hand across his face. She'd heard then, he thought as he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. News sure travelled fast. Too fast.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

He sighed. "Who told you?"

"Never mind who told me," Catherine snapped, pausing.

"I didn't have a choice," he said, his tone resigned and downcast.

"But we had him!" she exclaimed heatedly. "I'd made damn sure of that!"

"And he had Grissom," he retorted sadly, glancing toward the house. Her frustration and anger were justified, and shared, but what else could he have done?

Her voice lowered a notch as if she was within earshot. "He had no evidence," she continued, almost imploringly now. "We had him for the attack on Sara. As for the rest, it'd have been his word against Grissom's and we both know-"

"I wasn't prepared to let it get that far, Catherine," he cut in calmly. "Were you?"

"Jim…"

"Mud sticks, Catherine, you know that," he said, his voice rising, before taking in a deep breath as he willed himself to keep his cool. "And I couldn't take the risk that he'd lose everything. Everything else," he amended sadly. "What did you expect me to do?"

"So you settled? I can't believe this, Jim. I can't believe you would just-"

"I did what I felt was necessary to protect Grissom," Brass snapped.

"Without clearing it with me first?"

Brass's eyes widened. "Clearing it with you?" he said in a disbelieving snort. "What's it got to do with you, Catherine? It's a police matter, nothing to do with CSI!" He paused, regretting his words as soon as they'd left his lips and let out a breath, adding more quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. But I didn't have a choice," he insisted earnestly, "He had him, and _us_, over a barrel."

Catherine's sigh was long and despondent. "It wouldn't have gotten to that, and you know it."

"Do I?" The police captain took a breath and let it out slowly. "Listen, Catherine, Grissom doesn't need this at the moment. He's only just getting back on his feet. He's got more than enough on his plate without-"

"You're not going to tell him?" she exclaimed with disbelief.

"And neither are you," he said firmly, leaving her no say in the matter. "Not yet."

There was a lengthy pause at the other end before Catherine came back on the line. "He won't thank you for it."

"Probably not," Brass said, but he was prepared for the fallout with Grissom. He blew a breath and glanced toward the house, adding, "Listen, Catherine, I'm at yours and I've got to go. We'll talk about this later."

Ending the call before she could reply he turned his cell off and tossed it in his glove compartment. _Maybe it wasn't such a good idea having Grissom stay at Catherine's,_ he mused disgruntledly, his head dropping forward. He knew he'd have to tell him, and sooner rather than later, but not on his first night back. He glanced up toward the house, took a moment to compose a cool exterior and a neutral face, and exited his car.

"Come on, buddy, you can do this," he told himself. "Just take his mind off things for a couple of hours."

Bouncing on the ball of his feet he jabbed his thumb on the doorbell. He'd been doing that a lot recently, coming round to Catherine's, ringing the bell, going walkies with Hank, and strangely he looked forward to it. Instinctively a small, fond smile of anticipation curled his lip. Right on cue the Boxer let out a series of loud, happy barks and came bounding to greet him at the door. Brass's smile widened with pleasure.

"Maybe I should get a dog," he muttered while he waited, his face pursing in thought. Dogs were easy, people not so much.

"That's enough," he heard Grissom instruct curtly through the door. "I'm not deaf. No need for all that racket."

Quietly chuckling to himself, Brass raised his hand and gave a small wave at the peephole.

The door opened a crack, and holding Hank back by his collar Grissom showed his face. "Oh, it's you."

"Buddy," he greeted over brightly, "It's good to see you too."

Hank whimpered and Grissom let go of his collar. The boxer pushed past Grissom's legs and his tail wagging, eagerly welcomed Brass.

"It's good to see you too," Brass said fondly as he squatted down to give the pooch a good scratch behind the ears. "You happy to have your daddy home, huh?" Hank gave a low growl of delight at the attention he was receiving and looking up to a smirking Grissom Brass laughed. "Me too."

His brow arched, the CSI gave a slow shake of the head and sighed.

"What?" Brass drew out, smiling as he straightened up. "Can I not give a friend a good welcome? You're jealous?" He made to reach for Grissom's ears, pretending to give them a rub. "You want one and all?"

Ducking his head Grissom stepped back from the door. "You coming in, or what?"

Brass shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted an uncertain shoulder. "I don't know. I kind of hoped I could take you out some place, you know, just the two of us."

"Very droll," Grissom replied dryly.

"You didn't think I'd leave you alone on your first night back, did you?"

Grissom sighed and gave a nod of the head toward the rest of the house. "I can't. I said I'd watch Lindsey tonight."

"I don't mind staying," sing-sang a voice from the kitchen.

Grissom gave a slow shake of the head, opened the door wide and reluctantly motioned Brass in.

"Evening, Lily," Brass called as he stepped over the threshold. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling, a smile twitching at his lips at the muffled thumping bass resonating through.

Dishcloth in hand Lily popped her head out of the kitchen. "Evening, Jim," she said. "Can I get you a drink?"

Grissom called Hank back in and shut the door. "He's not stopping," he said, cutting short the pleasantries.

Throwing Lily a wink behind Grissom's back Brass pretended to pull at the noose around his neck. The older woman laughed delightedly before disappearing back into the kitchen. A glass picture frame on the narrow table by the door caught his eye. He frowned as he picked it up, thinking it must be new as he'd never noticed it before. It was a picture of a beaming Catherine sitting with her arms loosely wrapped around Lindsey's shoulders and a proud Lily standing slightly back with her hand posed on her shoulder.

"I figured by now they would have kicked you out of Sara's room for the night," he said, putting the frame back on the table and turning toward Grissom.

"So you're taking first watch, huh?"

Brass threw his friend a cheeky wink. "Welcome back to Vegas, buddy."

Lindsey's music unexpectedly blared out, and both men startled, their heads whipping upward in unison.

"The lesser of two evils," Brass quipped mildly, motioning toward Lindsey upstairs.

Grissom smiled, and shook his head at Brass's efforts. "Just…don't touch anything. I'll go grab my wallet."

A quarter of an hour later Brass was easing his sedan into a parking spot at Bally's Steakhouse in North Vegas. He ate there on average twice a month; the food was good and nutritious, and the week nights quiet, just what the CSI needed.

"A steakhouse?" Grissom remarked dryly as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"You don't have to have anything," Brass said as they got out of the car. "You can just watch and keep me company. I don't mind."

Ignoring his friend's dubious look he beeped the car shut and they made their way inside, and to a quiet booth at the back. Brass slid down the bench and made a show of studying the menu while Grissom tried to make himself comfortable across the table from him.

The waitress promptly appeared, order pad in hand, a wide smile on her face. She licked the lead of her pencil. "Usual?" she asked Brass.

The detective slowly folded the menu and put it back on the stand. "You changed your mind?" he asked Grissom.

"I'll have a beer, thanks," the CSI said with a glance toward the waitress.

"You're not hungry?" Brass tried, his voice tinged with concern.

Grissom shook his head. "Catherine's seen to that already."

Brass pursed his face with amusement, then looked at the waitress and said, "Mindy, we'll have two beers, and a steak with potato wedges and all the trimmings, medium rare with a side order of onion rings." He glanced toward Grissom and when he caught him watching patted his paunch. "What? I'm watching my figure."

Grissom's lips twitched with the beginning of a smile, which was all the encouragement Brass needed to proceed.

"Actually Mindy" he went on cheerily, turning back to Mindy and lifting two fingers in front of him, "I can tell he's changing his mind and I don't want him picking at my food. So make that two of everything."

"I haven't had steak in months," Grissom said contemplatively as the waitress left. Almost immediately there was a shift in his expression as though he'd let slip something he shouldn't have and he looked down sheepishly.

Brass watched Grissom silently for a long moment, his heart breaking at the look of guilt that had passed in his friend's eyes. "Sara would approve, you know?" he said quietly. "She'd want you to be carrying on as normal and look after yourself. You can't just put your life on hold until she gets better."

Keeping his eyes averted Grissom gave an almost imperceptible nod and Brass lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. "So Catherine's feeding you rabbit food, huh?" he asked as the waitress brought their beers to the table.

Grissom couldn't help the chuckle that involuntarily escaped. "I certainly can't fault you for trying," he said.

"What, too hard?"

Grissom shrugged. "I'm just…not very hungry, or very good company. I'm sorry."

At a loss for a retort Brass picked up his beer, forgoing the glass, and Grissom quietly followed suit. He'd tried to keep the mood light and Sara out of the conversation but it wasn't working. She was all around. He used his beer to wave his friend's apology aside and was going to take a sip from it when he held it up in the air in a toast.

"To Sara," he said solemnly. "And to her recovery. If someone can do it, it's her."

Grissom's eyes snapped up with surprise and a look akin to gratitude flashed across them. Brass gave a small helpless shrug, his lips pinching in a sad, wistful smile in return.

The CSI picked up his beer and raised it slightly. "To Sara," he said quietly.

It was as if a veil had been lifted, and Brass relaxed. The waitress chose this moment to bring their order through and after taking a quick sip of beer he picked up his knife and fork with enthusiasm.

"Bon appetite," he said, keeping his eyes on his plate as he began sawing into his steak, only looking up when he brought the first mouthful to his mouth. Grissom was looking at the knife and fork in his left hand with bewilderment. A smile broke across Brass's face. "You want a hand with that?" he asked, chewing, laughter spilling through. "Literally?"

Grissom's mouth pursed to the side and he laughed as he wordlessly pushed his plate across the table to Brass. Brass swapped cutlery and roughly cut up Grissom's steak into manageable chunks.

"Thanks," Grissom muttered, but not unkindly.

"Eat up," Brass said, "It's getting cold."

Grissom began to eat, a sight which warmed the detective's heart to its core, and he knew he'd been right to bring him there. He wasn't good at making chitchat, neither man was, so no words were spoken and hardly a look shared as they punctuated their eating with sips of their beers.

Completely out of the blue Grissom let out a chuckle and Brass looked up from his plate to find the CSI staring straight ahead at him. He put his knife down and wiped a rough hand over his mouth. "What?" he asked, a self-conscious smile spreading across his face. "Have I got sauce everywhere?"

Grissom gave himself a shake of the head. "Huh? No." He blinked hard and refocused his attention on his plate before spearing a potato with his fork and bringing it to his mouth. Brass's face screwed with puzzlement**. **He was debating whether to take the bait or not when Grissom said, "Sara wants to see Hank." He looked up. "She wants me to bring him in to visit. She was dead serious about it too. Can you believe that?"

Brass choked back laughter. "And how are you going to manage that?"

"I didn't say I would."

Brass gave an easy shrug. "But you're going to."

Grissom didn't reply; he just lowered his eyes back to his plate.

Brass didn't know what to make of the sudden darkening in the CSI's eye. "How's her speech coming along since I last saw her?" he asked after a moment, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

Grissom pursed his mouth as he thought about his reply. "It's better, I think. Or at least I'm getting more attuned to it. But I think she's finding it harder because she wants to say more and she gets frustrated." Sadness filled his gaze and he tried a smile that didn't fool Brass. "They're going to have a speech therapist assess her properly tomorrow but from what I gathered that's the area they want to concentrate on first."

Brass gave a thoughtful nod. "I did my own research on the place," he remarked quietly, smiling at the look of surprise on Grissom's face before lifting his shoulder in a helpless shrug. "Sounds to me like they have a good success rate and the best of everything. They'll take good care of her there, Gil, she's in good hands."

Grissom opened his mouth with a ready retort but he just nodded his head.

Brass returned to his food before pausing with his fork mid-air, hesitating. He sat back and watched Grissom push his food around his plate while Catherine's accusatory words played on his mind. "I...I ran the checks you wanted," he said in a sigh.

Grissom's head snapped up. "You did? But I thought you said-"

"I know what I said," he replied, shrugging as he reached for his beer. He took a long swig. "And apart from the usual traffic offence everyone's come back clear."

Grissom nodded. "Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it."

Brass dismissed Grissom's words with a wave of his bottle. "I did it as much for my peace of mind as yours."

"I know."

"I made some calls. Seems that security's pretty tight all round."

Grissom gave him a nod, both men lapsing in an awkward silence. Brass finished his beer and motioned to the waitress for another round. "I'm thinking of getting a dog," he said.

Grissom looked up with surprise. "A dog? You?"

"Why not? I'm fed up coming home to an empty house every day, and I figured it'd be nice to have someone waiting, you know?"

Grissom's eyes clouded with sadness and he flicked them down, and Brass's heart sank at his lack of tact. He was about to apologise when Grissom's eyes whipped up, meeting his dead on. They shone with a film of tears. "Do it," he said firmly. "Don't think about it. Just do it. It's the best thing I ever did."

Brass raised his brow, wondering whether the conversation had somehow switched from Hank to Sara, and he studied Grissom a moment before asking uneasily, "If you don't mind my asking, Gil, because you know until four weeks ago we had no idea, and it's none of our business, but…how long have the two of you…huh, you know," he swallowed the sudden knot in his throat and looked down to the table.

"Had Hank?"

Brass's eyes flicked up and he smiled. "Yeah."

Grissom waited for the waitress to swap their empties for fresh ones before replying, "Close to eight months now."

"Eight months? As long as that? Jeez, Gil, and no one knew?"

Grissom smiled, a smug upturn of his lip that Brass couldn't help shake his head at. "Catherine put you up to this?" he asked.

Brass's chuckle was on the nervous side. He picked up his beer and brought it to his lips wisely choosing to keep quiet.

Grissom's gaze turned wistful, his smile wider. "Sara saw an ad for a rescue shelter in Seven Hills in the local paper," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Next thing I know she's got me out there, looking at all these…dogs, saying we'd be the perfect parents." His lip wobbled, his eyes dropping to his plate and he brought his hand to his face, wiping at his eyes.

Brass rubbed his hand over his brow, kicking himself for broaching the subject at all and ruining the mood. He wanted to reach out to his friend, he really did, but he didn't know how to. "I'm sorry, Gil," he said after a beat, "I keep putting my big foot in it. It's just-"

"It's okay, Jim," Grissom said with a soft smile as he brought his eyes back up. "It's not your fault. Everything just reminds me of...what's happened, you know?" He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "When Sara's settled I'll get my bearings." He downed the last of his beer and pointed a thumb at the car lot. "You're ready to go? It's just that…well, it's been a long day and I want to swing by the townhouse on the way back to pick up my car."

Brass gave a silent nod of the head and a smile. Now was probably not the best time to bring Wallis up.


	4. Chapter 4

The door opened a crack and she slipped in without a sound. The mattress sank on her side of the bed as she lay down next to him, then stretched with a wide yawn and buried her head on the pillow with a blissful sigh. Her weight against him felt good and cherished and appeasing and Grissom instinctively moved closer, curling tight around the curve of her back, seeking her warmth.

"Sara…"

He let out a long breath and draped his arm over her; his hand resting over the small swell of her stomach he allowed himself a much needed reprieve and finally drifted off into a deep sleep lulled by the gentle rise and fall of her chest. After a while she shifted, turning round in his arms until she faced him, and nuzzled herself closer to him. He was back where he belonged, home in her arms, and it felt good.

"I love you."

Her breaths blew warm on his neck and he let out a small sleepy sigh of contentment as it moved near his face. Her lips met his in a wet kiss, a kiss that as he stirred quickly became an overeager licking of the tongue and he frowned. Something wasn't quite right. Reality came flooding back to him and he jerked his head back, his eyes snapping open with sudden panic as he realised the intrusion was real and not a figment of his imagination.

He pulled back from Hank's overfriendly ministrations and used his good hand to push him off as he shuffled up into a sitting position. Waiting a beat until his heartbeat had calmed he turned the bedside light on. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach returned.

"How did you get in, huh?" he asked, his tone sharp, as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

The dog stared back at Grissom with dismay. Then he shifted on the bed, stretching and yawning languidly.

Sighing, Grissom flicked his eyes to the door and found it open a crack. "I'm sure I closed the door after me last night," he told Hank, sullen.

Without thinking he brought his hand to the dog's side, only just making contact before drawing his fingers back to his lap. He knew the dog was only after warmth and affection but he just couldn't bring himself to give it to him. Hank's soulful eyes continued to stare at Grissom; he tilted his head to the side and whimpered, but all Grissom managed was a sad shake of the head.

The dog's look of dejection at his master's rejection was too much for Grissom to bear and he closed his eyes, his lips pinching at the pain and guilt that once more engulfed him. His eyes welled and he let out a dry sob, and shaking his head despondently he blew out a long breath. Hank shifted on the bed and nudged his snout into the palm of his hand.

"You're a good dog," he said, reopening his eyes, "but I just can't-" The words died on his lips, sad eyes lowering to a navy T-shirt curled around Hank's front paws. He stifled another sob as he recognised it was one of Sara's and brought a shaky hand to it.

"You miss her, don't you?" he said in a fraught whisper as he pulled gently at the T-shirt. He stared at it for a long time before closing his eyes and bringing it to his face. He took in a deep breath and allowed Sara's scent to fill and soothe him.

"I miss her too," he said through the T-shirt, as tears filled his eyes again.

Clenching his eyes shut at the tightening in his heart he ran his tongue over his lips, willing himself to stay strong and keep a lid on his emotion. Sara was still alive; she was getting stronger every day. And now that she was at the rehabilitation centre she would be getting the treatment she needed to regain her speech and mobility. She wasn't herself yet, but she soon would be. He had feared at first that her mind had been damaged, that she would have lost some of her faculties and intellect but he had seen in her eyes that the Sara he knew and loved was still there despite the changes. She would get back to him; he just had to keep believing in that and be patient.

He lowered the T-shirt from his face and reluctantly gave it back to Hank. "You keep it, buddy," he said. "At least I can go and see her everyday. I can't take you to see her but I can give you this."

Ever since Sara had mentioned wanting to see Hank he'd tried to think of ways to make that possible. But he just couldn't. He was sure that he could convince the hospital management to make an exception and allow Hank a brief visit but what if seeing the dog triggered her memory? What if she remembered the attack? What if she remembered more than he knew from the evidence they'd collected? What if she remembered more than he could stand to know?

"Why couldn't you protect her for me, huh?" he asked the dog, choking on the words.

He blinked hard and sucked in a fraught breath through his nose. As if understanding Grissom's inner turmoil, Hank lifted his head off Sara's top onto Grissom's lap and gradually inched it closer until it touched his master's hand as he sought love, affection and forgiveness. Grissom turned away, only to look directly at the picture of him and Sara taken in San Francisco that he had propped up against the wall on the bedside table.

He swallowed and reached out a trembling hand to it. Slowly, he picked it up and stroked his fingers over her smile, her wide, bright and beautiful smile, a smile that lit up the whole of her face, lit up her eyes, a smile that lit up his heart. That same heart filled with pain, and his eyes with tears, as a blurry vision of Sara with her new smile, her new lopsided but no less beautiful smile, appeared in front of him.

He closed his eyes and finally allowed his tears to roll down his face as he cried over what she had lost but also over what _he_ had lost.

"Enough!" he shouted suddenly, snapping his eyes open. He put the picture back on the bedside table and pushed Hank away. "You're not doing yourself or Sara any good by mopping and feeling sorry for what's happened. She's still alive and keeping strong despite what lies in front of her, and the least you can do is the same."

Filled with newly-found fervour he dried his eyes and glanced at the clock, then pushed the bedcovers off him and got out of bed, pulling on yesterday's clothes over his boxers and T-shirt. Hank's eyes followed his every move. Realising for the first time that music was playing in Lindsey's room he wondered whether she'd heard him. He paused and took a moment to consider what came next. He'd told Lily he'd make sure Lindsey was ready for school in time for Catherine's return and that's exactly what he was going to do.

"You can do this," he told himself.

He gave Lindsey's door a knock, asking her what she wanted for breakfast. Grateful that she replied scrambled eggs and not pancakes he set about making coffee for himself and gathering pots and ingredients to make breakfast for Lindsey. Making breakfast with one hand was a challenge but Catherine had put herself out to take him in and the least he could do was help out. Besides it kept him and his mind busy.

He was loading the dishwasher when he heard the front door open and an over-bright, "Hi, I'm home!" heralding Catherine's return.

"You're home early," he remarked, glancing toward Catherine when she walked into the kitchen.

"I'm home on time," she amended softly as she set a couple of overnight bags on the table – bags he recognised all too well. She smiled as she gave him an appraising look, seemingly pleased to see him up and about already. "Slow night," she explained after she'd poured herself a glass of water which she drank thirstily. "Yours?"

"I'm sure you know about that already," he said mildly as he put the last of the plates in the dishwasher. He straightened up and turned, his brow raised enquiringly.

Catherine's lips twitched with a smile. "I know up to the point when Lily went home," she said. "Did you manage to catch any sleep?"

"Some." He closed the dishwasher and moved to the bags. He stared at them but did not open them.

"As promised," she said, visibly guessing at his reluctance. "I got you some more clothes and books and stuff, and Sara too. I wasn't too sure what to get so I got a bit of everything. Maybe ask Sara if there's anything particular she'd like, or better still next time you'll come with me."

The thought of stepping into the townhouse filled him with dread. It had been bad enough driving to it with Brass the previous evening, and he gulped back the sick feeling that had built in the pit of his stomach.

Giving himself a shake of the head he picked up the bags. "We'll see," he told Catherine evasively.

She nodded and watched him a moment longer before asking, "Everything went okay with Lindsey?"

Grissom couldn't help smiling at Catherine's lack of subtlety. "I get now why Lily was in such a hurry to leave last night," he said.

Catherine didn't even try to pretend. "It's all part of my master plan dear Grissom," she said beaming at him as she gave an oh-not-so-innocent shrug of the shoulder, "to get you out of bed and back on your feet." She moved toward the door. "I'm going to go freshen up before I take Lindsey to school. Give me a holler if you need anything."

"I think I can manage."

"Good." She paused, her eyes flicking to Hank sitting on his hind legs by the door and keeping a close eye on Grissom. "Why don't you get ready and take him out for a walk? It's a nice day out there, it'll do you both the world of good."

"I _am_ ready," he replied wryly, giving Catherine a frown. "Besides, Lindsey's been round the block with him already."

She watched him for a moment and smiling, reached out a hand to his shoulder. "Okay," she said, visibly satisfied with the status quo, "I'll just put these on your bed." She picked up the overnight bags and disappeared out of the door, calling to Lindsey to get ready.

Grissom shook his head, sighing at Catherine's promise the previous day not to play mother hen, then finished clearing the kitchen and went back to his room. Hank never missed a beat. He made for the bags on the bed and opened the first one, Sara's things spilling out of the top. His heart clenched but he made himself go past the pain and took out the first few items of clothing, pausing to run his hand over them before quickly shoving them back in the bag and opening the second bag.

On top was his shaving kit and he smiled wondering whether Catherine was also telling him, not so subtly, that he looked awful. Frowning, he turned round and took a moment to look at his reflection in the full length mirror on the wardrobe door. For the first time he saw what they all saw and sighed. He stepped closer, and leaning his face toward the mirror rubbed a finger over the bags under his eyes before moving it down to his sunken cheeks and through his untrimmed beard.

"I suppose it wouldn't take too much effort to shave," he told his reflection, "and Sara would have something to smile about."

Hank let out a small bark in agreement and Grissom shot the dog a narrowed look through the mirror. Hank gave a little aggrieved whimper, his eyes dropping with contrition, causing the CSI to shake his head.

Without a moment to lose he took his shaving kit, toiletry bag and a change of clothes, headed to the main bathroom. He's showered, gotten changed and was filling the sink up with warm water when he caught Catherine watching him from the open door through the mirror. She smiled and he smiled back.

"Lindsey got off to school all right?" he asked as he turned the tap off.

She gave a nod in reply, her gaze lingering over the plastic bag on the toilet lid he'd used to cover his cast with. "How much longer?" she asked.

He followed her eyes. "Another two weeks, providing all's healing fine," he replied as he began applying shaving cream to his face.

She gave a thoughtful nod and met his eye. She frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm shaving." To her slowly arching brow he raised a sheepish shoulder adding, "Sara said I looked awful."

Catherine burst out laughing. "Well, you do. Actually, you look like shit. Sara was being kind."

Smiling at her words he gingerly picked up the straight edge razor with his left hand.

She shook her head at him and sighed. "But with one hand? Your_ left_ hand? And with that _thing_?"

He looked down to his hand and shrugged. "That's all I have."

"Oh, Grissom," she said in a sigh but her tone was warm, "Why can't you ever ask for help?"

His mouth pursed to the side. Then he turned toward her and held out his straight edge razor. "Will you help me? Please?"

Catherine's grin was one of pleasure and fondness as she nodded and stepped into the bathroom. She pulled a stool across and placed it by the sink before indicating that he should take a seat, which Grissom did. She took the towel he had slung over his shoulder and opened it out over his chest and shoulders. Slowly he angled his face up and to the side so his right cheek faced her, and closed his eyes.

"Just be gentle, and steady," he said in a whisper as she took the razor from him.

He could feel her smile at his words. Her left hand moved under his chin, the razor blade to his cheek. "You want it all off?" she asked. To his quiet nod she said, "You know I could just…trim it a little, tidy the edges up a little." His eyes opened and he straightened up his head. She shrugged. "A beard suits you – when it's trimmed."

He shook his head. "Sara doesn't like it. She finds it…prickly. It gives her beard burn."

"Too much information," Catherine said, laughing. He shrugged and tilted his face up and once again closed his eyes. Her left hand took up its position under his chin. She inclined his face and brought the blade to his cheek. "I'm glad you're doing this," she said after a few soft scrapes of the blade.

"What, shave?"

"Yeah." She paused. "It shows you've turned a corner, that you're ready to face the future, however uncertain."

He opened his eyes and nodded. "That's what Sara needs."

She gave him a bright smile. "You're right."

Noticing the concern in her eyes, he curled his lip in a knowing smile and said, "Stop worrying, Catherine, and stop having people watch over me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she defended weakly. "All I know is that Warrick's got tonight off and that he's looking forward to a game of chess and a few cans of beers."

"Chess?" he remarked, cocking a suspicious brow.

"That's what I heard," she said, feigning a casualness that didn't fool him. She waved the razor toward his cheek and when he'd once again angled his face upward began a slow, careful shaving of his left cheek.

"How is he?" he asked when she stopped to wipe the blade on the towel.

"Who, Warrick?" To his nod she replied, "He's okay. Worried, as we all are. Glad to be back at work."

Grissom nodded and sighed. Then he smiled. "If you get to speak to him before me, tell him I look forward to giving his ass a good whipping."

"I'm sure he'll give you a good run for your money," she said, laughing.

Grissom couldn't help the twitching of his lips as he lifted his gaze to hers. Smiling she held his eyes for a moment, then tilted his face up and resumed shaving.

"There," she said after a moment, "All done." She pulled back, her eyes narrowing as she checked her handiwork. She reached across and gently wiped a little foam off his earlobe with her fingers. "Almost as good as new," she said fondly, meeting his eye. "And not a single nick."

They watched each other briefly before he became uncomfortable at her scrutiny and dropped his gaze to the sink.

"What time do you need to be there for?" she asked, turning away and setting the razor down.

He stood up and used the towel to wipe his face. "Not until eleven. But I want to go into town first and get her some more things. You know, to make her room more…her. More home."

She pulled the plug and the water began draining. "You want me to come with you?" she asked as she rinsed her hands under the tap.

He shook his head. "No. I need to do this. I want to do this. That's why I wanted the car."

She turned. "Sure? I don't mind driving you."

"No. You just go catch some sleep. I'll be fine."

Catherine dried her hands and moved to the door while Grissom took her place at the sink so he could wash his face. He paused with his left hand on the tap and looked up, catching Catherine's eye though the mirror. "Thank you."

Catherine's smile was warm and affectionate. "Any time. Just tell Sara I'll come by this afternoon."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is where it got a little difficult to give Sara a voice heard through other people's ears. I hope it's not too difficult to follow, and I promise that her speech is the first thing that's going to improve with therapy. ;-)

Thank you again for reading and leaving such wonderful reviews. I…just find it simply amazing.

* * *

><p>"Sara. Sara Sidle," Greg said breathlessly as he reached the reception desk at Torrey Pines. He placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward eagerly. "I've come to see her."<p>

The clerk lifted her head and a well-plucked brow from her computer screen and opened her mouth, but Greg raised his hand, stopping her rebuttal before it left her lips. He flashed his most endearing smile and batted an eyelid, hoping his charm would get him into Sara's room despite the rules.

"I know it's not visiting hours yet," he said quickly, his excitement spilling forth into his words, "and that Sara's probably not ready for visitors but I've only just finished my shift and I couldn't wait until this afternoon." He paused for breath, holding her eye meaningfully. "I know she won't mind."

The woman gave the CSI the once over. "Are you family?" Pursing his face Greg wondered whether telling a small white lie would do anyone any harm. He was about to say yes when she asked with surprise, "Law-enforcement?"

Greg followed her gaze to his CSI ID still clipped to the waistband of his pants and nodded his head eagerly. "That's right; law-enforcement," he said, unclipping the badge and lifting it to her eye line. "Greg Sanders; Las Vegas crime lab. I work with Sara."

The clerk studied Greg's ID intently, her narrowed gaze continuously flicking between the photo and his face. "I don't know," she said at last. "We've been left very strict instructions."

"Please," he said, forming his mouth in a pout. He waved his badge. "She's in safe hands with me, I promise." His face became serious and he lifted his shoulder in a small shrug. "Besides, I just want to say hello."

A smile spread across the clerk's face. "All right. I suppose a hello can't hurt. Ten minutes though, no more or I'll get into trouble."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said dutifully. "Not a second longer, I promise."

After signing the visitor's register and being handed in an access key to Sara's room Greg pushed off the counter, strode purposefully across the hall toward where he'd been instructed, and when he'd rounded the corner half-jogged down the corridor to her room so excited he was at the prospect of seeing his mentor and friend. The smile of anticipation never left his lips. Reaching her room he paused, took a breath and gave a cheerful knock on the door. Then he slotted the key card into the lock and let himself in. He couldn't wait to give her a hug.

Quietly he shut the door and turning round threw a wide, giddy smile toward the bed. The head of the bed was raised propping Sara up into a half-sitting position but her eyes were closed and she hadn't heard him come in. The smile dropped off his face and he sighed. Catherine had warned them about not getting their hopes up and expect a second miracle, and that a sitting-up-in-bed-and-chatting Sara was still some way off. But seeing her in bed like that, small and helpless, pale and gaunt, brought back memories of the last time he'd seen her when she still was at Desert Palm before her transfer to Reno. The wind knocked out of him he blew out a long breath.

Sara stirred and her eyes fluttered open, her lips pursing into a small smile. "Gilbert?"

There was a beat while Greg plastered a fresh smile on his lips. "No, it's me, Sar, Greg," he replied quietly.

He strode to the bed so she could see him better and took her right hand in his affectionately. He was about to lean in for a kiss on the cheek when he felt her fingers tense in his hand and he didn't. She was watching him with a look he'd almost describe as fearful, guarded, almost distrustful, dark brown eyes open wide and unblinking as they stared. The way she was studying him, like she would a piece of evidence she'd just uncovered and was trying to fit into a bigger picture, was unnerving. His smile wavering Greg swallowed the lump in his throat.

Sara's lips pinched. She gave a few nervous blinks, and then her eyes flicked from him to the door uncertainly, almost panicky and then back again.

"I'm sure Griss'll be here soon," he said in a sigh, misunderstanding her reaction and barely hiding his disappointment at the fact that she didn't look more excited to see him.

Sara refocused tentative eyes on him, gave a slow, hesitant nod at his word and continued to observe him. "S'kay," she said after a moment. Her eyes studied his every feature, never missing a beat and looking down from her stare he tried to shake off his feeling of unease, but he just couldn't.

He shook his head and lifting his eyes back to hers flashed a brief smile. "Catherine told us not to come yet. To give you time to settle but I couldn't wait," he said quickly, hoping that by filling the silence he could cover his discomfort. He raised a small self-conscious shoulder. "But I've missed you so much. I'm sorry I didn't come and visit while you were in Reno, but you know…" his smile wavered, "I'm here now."

Greg lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, his eyes scanning round the room nervously, and catching sight of a chair nearby pulled it closer. As he was sitting down Sara said something and he sprung back to his feet. Her voice sounded weak and hoarse through lack of use, separate words merging into one long and drawn-out word, and Greg tried not to let his pain show. His head shot up and frowning, he slowly replayed her question in his mind. Her initial look of anxiety had vanished from her face and she was smiling expectantly.

Understanding finally dawned. "Of course I want to give you a hug," he said, beaming a great big smile at her as he leaned over to wrap her in a loose embrace. His disquiet finally dissipating, he closed his eyes and took a moment to hold her before reluctantly pulling back.

"'owzlab?" she asked.

"God, Sara," he replied, sitting down, "The lab's not the same without you." He let out a small chuckle. "I even miss Grissom. Warrick's taken over evaluating my work," he went on animatedly, "But he's not you. He's tough and unbending and not half as pretty."

Sara let out a giggle of delight, and Greg shrugged sheepishly. Back on form now he flicked his gaze upward and scanning the rest of the room gave a quiet, appraising whistle. "Not bad," he enthused, "I see Grissom's taking good care of you. Let me know as soon as you find him lacking I don't mind playing second fiddle. And I mean it."

Sara's giggle filled the quiet of the room again, warming Greg's heart. "'kay," she laughed.

Greg's smile widened. "Good." He paused suddenly at a loss as to where to go from there and checked his watch. "Oh, before I forget," he exclaimed suddenly, slinging the backpack off his shoulder onto the bed and rummaging inside. "The rats gave me this for you." He lifted a small packet and a card, which he pulled out of the envelope and opened in Sara's eye line so she could read the messages inside.

Sara narrowed her gaze, and leaned her head forward, squinting her eyes at the writing for a moment before sighing and plopping back down onto her pillow. "Thanks."

Greg smiled and put the card on the table by the bed and hesitantly picked up the packet. "Do you want me to open this for you?"

"'kay."

Greg ripped the paper, unwrapping a CSI Barbie doll. Dressed all in black and wearing a CSI vest the doll had shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes and a wide grin. A mini flashlight had been glued to her right hand. Shaking his head at the gift Greg pressed the doll's chest and the labrats' voices came on all at once, giving Sara warm messages of good wishes and thinking-of-you's.

He straightened the vest on the doll. "Hodges did the doll _thing_," he said, keeping his eyes on the doll as he spoke, "and Archie recorded the voices which he put onto a tiny player inside the chest." He looked up to see tears rolling down Sara's face, and he swallowed. He knew the doll had been a mistake and he wished now that he'd followed his first instinct and kept it back.

Unexpectedly, Sara smiled through her tears, a long slow smile that lit up her eyes. "'Sdollme?" she asked, her voice rising with surprise.

Greg screwed his face uncertainly. "I didn't get that," he said quietly.

"S'kay," she said in a frustrated sigh. She paused and he could tell from the intense look of concentration on her face she was working at forming her lips and tongue into words. "The doll. 'ts me," she said.

"Yes, it is," Greg said excitedly, "Well, it's supposed to be anyway. You're a lot prettier, and smarter."

Sara's mouth twitched with a fond smile and she watched him for a long moment. It was as though she'd figured out his big secret.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious under Sara's scrutiny, he turned away and sat the doll on the table next to the card. "And I brought you a little something too," he said, briefly meeting her watchful eye as he once again delved into the bag. He pulled out a brand-new white iPod, a carbon copy of the one she used to own before the attack.

Sara stared at the device with puzzlement.

"I've put in all your favourite songs and a few more," he explained. "You know, for when you can't sleep? Grissom can charge it up as and when."

Sara blinked and refocused her gaze on Greg. "Mu-sic?" she asked with surprise.

Greg reached up and put an ear bud in Sara's ear and the other to his. He switched the device on and scrolled down the list of songs he'd downloaded to Evanescence. Sara's face lit up with wonderment as she listened to the first track of the album. It was like watching a child on Christmas day and Greg couldn't take his eyes off her face. The emotion in her eyes, the intent look on her face, were as though she was hearing the song, a song he knew she'd listened to hundreds of times in the past and was a favourite of hers, for the very first time.

When the song ended she had tears in her eyes. "Love it," she said.

"I know you do, sweetie," Greg said tenderly, simply overwhelmed by Sara's reaction. He wanted to reach out and wipe the tears off her face but didn't think it appropriate. Instead, forgetting all about the time and his promise not to be longer than ten minutes he picked up the iPod from the bed, pressed a few more keys and said, "What about this one?"

The first guitar riffs of Blondie's One Way or Another came on, and Sara's face lit up with recognition. "Blon-die," she exclaimed with excitement. "Louder!"

Laughing Greg obliged with pleasure. Her eyes lost their focus as she listened to the song and her head bobbing slightly she began to hum the tune. Greg joined her, humming quietly at first, and then singing the words while she hummed as they had done many a time before at the lab.

"Lovblon-die," she said when the song finished. "'nother?"

"Okay," he smiled. "You chose this time. Which one do you want to hear?"

She considered his question for a long moment before replying. "Stones. GotStones?"

Greg frowned uncertainly and then his face lit up in understanding. Pressing a few keys he began scrolling down the list of artists. "I got the Stones," he said smiling with pleasure. "Here we are, Greatest hits – Hot Rocks. What about an all-time favourite…Sympathy for the Devil?"

Her eyes shining with unconcealed excitement Sara nodded vigorously. As soon as Mick Jagger's voice filled their ears, Sara closed her eyes, her head burying deep into the pillow as she listened. The soft smile never left her lips.

His eyes steadfast on her face Greg took out the bud from his ear and delicately placed it in Sara's. Her eyes opened, her smile broadening in thanks. She said something else to him, but he couldn't make sense of it. Still all that mattered at that moment in time was that he'd brought a smile to her face and made her happy, and that despite her accident their friendship and complicity was still as strong as before.

Greg was so intent on watching the pleasure on Sara's face that he never heard the key card being slotted into the door, or it opening.

"Greg!" Grissom called tersely, startling the young CSI to his feet. "What the hell is going on?"

Greg's head whipped round toward his boss. Grissom stood with one hand on the handle, the other one clutching an overnight bag. His face was pale, as if he'd just seen a ghost, his breathing as deliberately slow and controlled as his voice.

"I came to see Sara," the young CSI said quietly, taken aback by his boss's attitude.

Grissom swallowed. "Did you give her the iPod?"

Greg's eyes narrowed. He turned toward the bed, a small smile forming when he noticed Sara watching them fearfully. She gave her head a shake and an ear bud fell out. The Rolling Stones were still at it.

She frowned. "Gilbert? What's wrong?" she asked, her words slurred and laboured.

Grissom brushed past Greg, picked up the iPod and turned it off. "It's okay," he told Sara, mustering a small smile despite his visible turmoil. "I just need to speak to Greg for a moment." Turning toward the young CSI, he said, "Greg, can I have a word outside?"

Greg's eyes flicked from Sara to Grissom and then back to Sara again. Sara must have picked up on the tension between the two men because her eyes filled with tears. He felt tears come and he blinked and watched her tenderly for a moment before mouthing "Sorry." The rebuttal in front of Sara – however unspoken – hurt. He hadn't meant any harm by his gift and visit, and was sure he hadn't caused any, quite the opposite in fact.

"I'll come again later," he told her, his voice sad and dejected. The left side of her mouth curled into a soft smile, and he smiled back. "But know that everyone's thinking of you." Blinking hard he turned, giving his boss a nod. "I'm sorry, Grissom," he said quietly as he walked past him. "I didn't think I was doing anything wrong."

"Outside," Grissom said.

Greg just heaved a deep sigh, and with one last look and wave at Sara preceded his boss out of the room.

"What do you think you are doing?" Grissom asked snappily, his voice barely above a whisper, as soon as the door closed.

"I came to see Sara," Greg replied with a shrug. "She-I didn't think I was doing any harm."

"You didn't think you were doing any harm?" Grissom repeated with incredulity. "You gave her an _iPod_ for crying out loud!"

Greg opened his hands out in a helpless manner. "I thought she'd enjoy listening to her favourite tunes, especially when she's stuck in bed all day."

Grissom's face twisted in exasperation. "But an _iPod_, Greg. Do you want her to remember the attack?"

The penny suddenly dropped and Greg's eyes averted to the floor. "I'm sorry I didn't think. I-"

"That's the problem," Grissom cut in, "you didn't think." Greg's head shot up and he met Grissom's dark gaze. "From now on, run everything by me first, okay?" He paused, letting his words sink. "And while I'm at it, Greg, visiting hours are three to six. Stick to them. Or better still…" Grissom clenched his fist and shook his head, his sentence remaining unfinished but Greg was under no illusion as to what he meant.

He looked down, nodding dejectedly. "I'm sorry." He sucked in a breath through his nose and made eye contact as he added, "But I made her smile Grissom, and I made her laugh. For just a moment she was happy. I made her happy. It was like before." He raised his shoulders in a shrug, ending his sentence with a sigh.

Grissom lowered his eyes, let out a breath and then slowly nodded his head. Greg waited for Grissom to say something, apologise maybe, or just acknowledge that he'd overreacted, but when nothing came forth he just shook his head at the situation and left.


	6. Chapter 6

"Greg's gone?" Sara asked, her eyes lingering on the door as Grissom shut it.

"Yes," he replied, his tone a little clipped. He'd obviously spent some time regrouping outside; he looked calmer, a small apologetic smile curling the corner of his mouth as he turned toward her. Yet, she could tell from the vicelike grip he had on the bag that his composure was just a front.

She watched him closely while he approached, waiting with narrowed eyes for him to volunteer an explanation for his reaction earlier. When none came she heaved a sigh, her eyes lowering to his chest as he gently took the second bud out of her ear before slowly winding the cord round the iPod.

What had Greg possibly done that had rattled him like that?

Instinctively she knew that his apparent hostility toward Greg wasn't borne out of jealousy, even if the young CSI had a crush on her. She also knew that Grissom wasn't mad at her for returning Greg's affection. After her initial shock at finding a stranger in her room she had felt a connection with Greg, a deep friendship almost akin to brotherly love. Well, she thought with bitterness as her brother's face popped into her mind, close to the definition of brotherly love one might find in a dictionary anyway.

She doubted too that it was Greg's visiting outside hours that had caused the tension. So, it only left the gift, the iPod. But why?

"You're mad at him," she said at last, meeting his eye. "Why?"

He paused, a frown furrowing his brow while he processed her words. Lifting his shoulder in reply, he reached across and brushed his thumb over a teardrop caught in the corner of her eye.

"Don't," she said, turning her face away from his touch, but he kept his hand there nevertheless. Damn tears! she thought, blinking. Why couldn't she keep a lid on her emotion? She felt so overwhelmed, so touched and moved all of the time. This Sara she didn't remember seemed to have so much love and affection in her life, and friends, a boyfriend, people who cared dearly about her and wanted to make her happy. She'd never really had any of _that_before in her life, and it left her…disconcerted.

Grissom's long sigh drew her out of her thoughts. "_You're_ mad," he stated quietly, slowly drawing his hand back from her face.

She brought her gaze back to his and nodded. "Greg's my friend," she said. "He came to see me; he gave me the pod."

"The pod?" Grissom repeated, frowning in puzzlement. Sara's eyes flicked down to his hand. "Oh, the _i_Pod," he amended, dropping her gaze.

She knew the iPod held the key. If the iPod was the new Walkman she'd have to have been listening to it when she went running with Hank the day of the accident. She always listened to music when she ran. Maybe that's why he'd reacted the way he had. Maybe he didn't want her to have it, in case it brought back memories of the accident. But surely that had to be a good thing, right? Wouldn't she be able to remember the last eight years of her life then?

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to keep it," he said quietly after a moment, validating her thoughts.

"Why not?" she challenged, determined to find out the truth.

He looked up from the iPod in his hand and shrugged. "I'm not sure it's recommended…in your condition," he said hesitantly.

Sara's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Please, stop trying to protect me."

"I can't help it, Sara," he smiled sadly after a short pause. "I'm sorry."

"I want to keep the iPod," she said resolutely. "I love music. I miss it."

Pain filled Grissom's features and he brought his hand back to her face, cupping her cheek. She could see the dilemma in his eyes; either he told her the truth about the iPod, or he let her have it. "Okay," he said with a soft smile, "You can keep it. But you have to promise me that you won't listen to it for too long at a time."

Sara's heart sank. He wasn't ready to tell her, and frustratingly she would have to wait until he was. They watched each other silently for a moment and then Sara said, "Don't be mad at Greg, please. He meant well."

Grissom's eyes narrowed while he deciphered her words and then he shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping. "You always take his side," he said, looking back over his shoulder to sit on the chair Greg had vacated. He reached down to his leg and rubbed it.

"You okay?" she asked. "Is it your leg?"

"Don't worry about me," he replied easily. "I'm fine. I've just been on my feet too long. I went into town before I came. I had a few errands to run."

"You shaved."

His face lit up and he winked, and Sara knew that somewhere in that wink was a story she didn't recall. Her smile wavered, her eyes dropping to her lap as they lapsed into silence.

"You'll have to apologise," she said after a moment, looking up.

His brow shot up and he refocused his thoughts on her. "I have," he said. A strange smile suddenly appeared on his lips as he added, "And I have just the thing." He picked up the bag from the floor, placed it on the edge of the bed and unzipped it, removing a small potted plant. He took a moment to straighten the leaves, his smile broadening as he thrust it out to her in peace offering. "I'm sorry."

Sara frowned in puzzlement, her eyes flicking to the plant and then back to his. He'd obviously misunderstood her words. "Not to me. Greg," she said, laughing.

"Oh." Glancing at the plant in his hand Grissom lifted a shoulder, then sighed and gave her a reluctant nod. "You don't like it?" he asked after a moment, watching her expectantly.

"I love it. Thank you," she said but she knew from the slight pursing of his face and the questions in his eyes that that wasn't the answer he was expecting. She realised then that the plant too held a symbolism she hadn't acknowledged. Her heart filled with sadness. Letting an inward sigh of frustration she added hesitantly, "African violet, my favourite."

"I know," he said quietly, his blue eyes staring at her intently. He flashed a sad smile, then shook himself out of his thoughts and leaned over, soft lips brushing against hers as he whispered, "I'm sorry, and I'll apologise to Greg."

Sara strained forward, her lips meeting his for a more forceful, more intimate kiss than his gentle stroke of lips. Her heart began a little drumming dance, dissipating her lingering melancholy.

When he pulled back his lips twitched with a smile. "Are you trying to get me into trouble?"

"Trouble?" she repeated, a brow arching.

He screwed his face at her, but his eyes twinkled with mirth, and she laughed. A wide pleasurable smile on his lips he gazed at her for a long moment before leaning over for another kiss. Gasping in surprise, Sara closed her eyes at the surge of love and desire that coursed through her. Was it all in her mind? Or did she really feel the tingling in the pit of her stomach? His kiss, this time, was everything the previous one wasn't. Tentative and gentle a first, it soon became passionate and hungry, and when breathless he pulled back he looked almost...surprised.

Sara blinked, tears she was fighting hard to control prickling the back of her eyes. She was happy, yet there was a lingering sadness in her heart. What if she wasn't enough for him anymore? She watched him for answers and he stared back at her, the soft smile never leaving his lips. "Don't you even think it," his eyes were telling her. "Don't you ever doubt it. None of this can ever change the way I feel about you."

"I thought it'd brighten the place up a little, you know?" he said suddenly nodding toward the plant on the bed. "I got a couple more things too." He reached into the bag again, took out an old faded T-shirt and unfolding it pulled the picture of the two of them in San Francisco.

Her face instantly lit up with a bright smile of recognition and she stared, stunned and wide-eyed, at the picture he was holding toward her for a long moment before looking up from it with surprise.

Looking pleased with himself, he gave her a soft loving smile and a shrug. "I had a copy of it made," he said, visibly pre-empting her next question. "I'm afraid your original took quite a battering. It's…it's carried me through the worst…" His words faltered and he shook his head, his smile becoming uneasy and pinched. He shrugged again. "It's sitting by my bedside at Catherine's."

She nodded. "You're not home?"

He shook his head softly. "Catherine insisted and it's easier that way. I can help her out a little with Lindsey while she covers for me at work." A frown of puzzlement formed at the mention of Lindsey and Sara averted her eyes back to the picture. "And Hank seems to like it there," he added quietly.

"How is he?" she asked, looking up.

"Hank? He's good. A little sad. Missing you."

"Bring him in."

A smile broke across his face. "You're really intent on getting me into trouble, aren't you?" He glanced down at the picture, adding, "I had it framed this morning."

Sara followed his gaze. The picture had been taken on his last day in San Francisco back in 1998 and she'd kept the only copy. It was the only real memory she had of him, of the two of them together until two weeks ago. Eight years of a shared life, eight years of common memories and she had no recollections of them. How could she not remember any of it? Why wasn't any of this triggering her memory?

"What is it, Sara?" he asked. Soft fingers moved under her chin, gently coaxing her head up and round. "Sara, honey? You don't like it?"

How could she ask him without revealing her amnesia for a more recent photograph? One where she would be able to see what she looked like now.

Suddenly looking very guilty he pinched his lips uneasily and ran a shaky hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I know what you're thinking. I…I found it in the shoebox you keep in the back of the closet in your apartment."

Sara frowned at the mention of an apartment and looked down to the ring on her finger. Weren't they living together?

"I wasn't prying," he continued earnestly, and she refocused on him, "I was just looking for an address for your mother."

And he had found one among her things? Sara pondered his words for a moment. Was it possible that she'd been in contact with her mother in the last eight years? And what about Matthew, her brother. Had she been in touch with him too?

"Talking about your mother," he added, breaking the lengthy silence, "She should be arriving late afternoon."

Sara's face closed off and she sighed, turning away. Her mother's presence at her bedside made Sara very tense and edgy and every time the older woman had visited her at St Mary's she would pretend to be tired and sleepy. Yet, both Grissom and Jim seemed to trust her and hold her in high esteem. There was an undeniable bond between the three of them that Sara didn't understand and which left her very uneasy.

"I know how you feel about her," he went on as if reading her thoughts, "but I think it's time you gave her a chance to make amends. She wants to be there for you. She wants to help you."

Sara's head whipped round, her eyes darkened and narrowed, and lifting a small shoulder at what he'd just said, he picked up the plant and photograph before turning away to place them on the table. The CSI Barbie doll caught his eye and before she could voice her thoughts on her mother, he said, "What's this?" Picking up the doll he studied it and turned it round in his hand.

Typical diversion tactics, she thought. "It's me," she replied, watching his face closely. The look of pain that flashed across his eyes gave her pause. The doll reminded him of the old Sara. The one he knew and loved, the one she didn't remember and most probably would never be again. All thoughts of her mother went out of her mind. "Greg brought it me," she added cheerfully, wanting to dissipate his sorrow. "It's a gift from the lab. Lodges made it. Press the chest."

Blinking, Grissom refocused his frown onto her.

Thinking he hadn't understood what she'd said Sara took a breath and repeated slowly, "Press her chest."

Despite his lingering sadness Grissom burst out laughing. "You want me to press _your_ chest?" He put his index finger between the doll's breasts. "Like this?"

Sara giggled at the look on his face as he pressed down and the labrats' voices, loud and cheerful, filled the silence. The smile immediately dropped off his face as he heard the first of the messages and tears filled his eyes.

"Can you read me what it says on the card?" she asked afterwards.

Refusing to meet her eye, Grissom nodded. Then he set the doll down next to the plant and picked up the card before pulling his glasses out of his shirt pocket and slipping them on. He blinked and shook his head and began to read the messages out loud to Sara. By the last message his voice was choked up with emotion, his eyes brimming with tears, and he removed his glasses, giving his eyes a rough wipe with the back of his hand.

It suddenly struck her. He wasn't only just mourning his loss; he was mourning her loss for her. "It's okay for you to be sad," she said. "But I'm not." She paused, giving him time to register her words. "I'm still here."

Grissom looked up to the ceiling and blinked, then nodded his head. He tried a smile.

"Gilbert, it's not your fault I'm like this," she continued slowly. "What's happened happened, you know? We can't change it."

He tilted his head to the side, watching her with a look akin to pride, and then nodded again. "But we can make it better, right?" he said, smiling through his tears.

"We will," she said with determination. "This isn't the future. This isn't our future." Grissom frowned and Sara wasn't sure he was getting what she was saying. Still she made herself carry on and say what she needed to tell him. He would get it; she knew he would get it. "I'm going to work very hard at getting better."

"I know, sweetheart," he said. His hand rose to her face and he gently pushed her hair out of her eyes, keeping his hand there. "I know you will." He lowered his hand, taking hers and giving it a strong reassuring squeeze.

She concentrated all her senses on squeezing back. She knew she couldn't squeeze yet but she could tense her fingers and she hoped he would feel it. Suddenly, his eyes widened as they shot down to their entwined hands and then back up to her face. Words weren't necessary to convey his joy. The wonderment in his eyes, the quaver in his smile as he stared at her told her all she needed to know about how he felt.

She lowered her gaze first. "Is it for me?" she asked with a nod to the bed.

Grissom slowly followed her eyes to the T-shirt, and he smiled. "Yes, it is. I brought you a few change of clothes too."

Sara strained and leaned forward, slowly lifting her head and back off the pillow. "Help me get this thing off," she said.

"Oh, I don't know," he said quickly. She peered up at him from the corner of her eyes and stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You're sure?" he said.

"Do you need to ask?"

"I guess not," he replied in a resigned tone.

Grissom perched on the edge of the bed and helped Sara forward, more or less holding her in a sitting position. With his good hand, he pulled the ties on the neck and back of her hospital gown, undoing the knots. He reached for the T-shirt, opening it out with a shake, which is when Sara realised that it was far too big to be one of hers. Did she usually wear his clothes in bed? She liked the thought that she might, and that he had been thoughtful enough to remember.

She looked up, meeting his eye and smiled.

"Why stop a habit of a lifetime, huh?" he asked softly, winking at her. "Besides, I thought it would cover all the tubes and everything."

Gently, reverently, he began undressing her. Sara was surprised at the fact that she wasn't shy about uncovering in front of him despite the scars, dressings and bruises on her body, which was strange really as in the past she'd always been self-conscious when undressing in front of men. He had the T-shirt over her head and in one arm, when Sara noticed the door to the room open and the speech-language therapist walk in. Pausing at the door the latter caught Sara's eye and frowned. Sara's smile was wide and amused and she began to giggle, causing the therapist's face to relax into a smile.

"I know, Sara," Grissom said in a chuckle, unaware of his audience, "I'm making a meal out of this." He pulled the hospital gown off her other arm and stretched the neck of the T-shirt. "I've only just got to-"

Stealth-like the therapist closed the door and moved to the end of the bed. She cleared her throat, her voice serious and matron-like as she said, "Can I help you?"


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I say this every time, but I have absolutely no medical training. None at all, so if I talk a lot of rubbish, let me know and I'll try to put it right. I honestly don't know why I persist on writing stories where Grissom and/or Sara get hurt. I just don't know. ;-)

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Reviews as always are appreciated and cherished, and a good source of inspiration.

* * *

><p>Grissom froze, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It could be anybody standing there, watching as he held his half-naked girlfriend in his arms. God, what were they thinking?<p>

Sara was still giggling, visibly at ease with whoever had entered the room, the echo of her laughter soft music to his ears. He smiled then, his lips pinching in tightly together in a futile attempt at keeping in his own amusement in check. They had to know he wasn't up to anything untoward, hadn't they?

Shaking his head at the situation he pulled slightly back and caught Sara's eye. She looked such an open picture of innocence and happiness, her face lit up with such mischief that he couldn't help the grin that broke across his features. At least he still had his clothes on, he thought, chuckling to himself.

The clearing of a throat caused his chuckle to peter out and his mind to refocus. Sara did her best to school her features into a serious expression, but in vain. He sighed and cleared his throat. "I think we're okay," he replied, keeping his back to the woman, his voice surprisingly calm under the circumstance.

He took his time. Using his body as a shield he finished easing Sara's arm into the sleeve before gently pulling the T-shirt down over her chest. He was careful not to catch the button sticking out of her stomach they used for feeding her. Then shifting her weight he slowly lowered her upper body back down onto the pillow that propped her up, smiling tenderly as he once again caught her eye.

"You're okay?" he asked her silently.

Sara gave him a nod and he reached his left hand across to brush her hair back behind her ears. His eyes lingered on her face a little longer, his hand on her cheek, as he watched her tenderly. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, loathing to break the contact, and flicked his gaze to the ceiling as he took a breath, ready to face the music.

"This isn't how it looks," he said at last, easing himself off the bed and turning toward the untimely intruder.

Grissom's words visibly startled the woman out of her reverie, for she gave herself a shake of the head, refocusing dreamy eyes on the pair. "Isn't it?" she replied, the soft wistful smile remaining on her lips.

"No," he said. He flashed a sheepish smile. "Let me explain. Sara and I were…I was…We-" He threw Sara a sideway glance, his shoulder rising helplessly, and Sara watched him, her brow arched, visibly enjoying herself and the situation far too much to help him out of it.

The woman laughed and lifted her hand, stopping him. "You don't have to explain, Mr Grissom," she said pleasantly. Her eyes flicked toward Sara and then back to him. "It's good to see a patient in good spirit and laughing. Believe me, it's a comforting sight."

Smiling, Grissom looked at Sara and nodded his head softly. "It is indeed."

Sara's returning smile was as cheeky as the twinkle in her eye. "Isgettinimintrouble," she said, holding his gaze.

He screwed his face at her, then turned back toward the therapist and rephrased, "Sara says that she's been trying to get me into trouble. And visibly she's succeeded."

"Don't feel you have to repeat what Sara says for my benefit," the woman told him, redirecting her warm smile from Sara to him. "I understand her perfectly. We haven't met yet, Mr Grissom. I'm Paula Mayhew, Sara's speech-language therapist." She extended a hand to him, which after lifting his right arm in apology he shook with his left hand. "Sara and I met earlier. We spent a moment together chatting, didn't we, Sara?"

Sara nodded, the right corner of her lip lifting in a hesitant smile. The sudden look of worry and foreboding in her eyes pulled at his heart.

"Okay," Paula said, getting down to business, "I won't beat around the bush." She motioned for Grissom to sit down while she perched on the opposite side of the bed from him, waiting for him to be ready before adding, "From a speech point of view, the brain injury Sara sustained caused some neurogenic disfluency. It's nothing unusual in the circumstance," she hastened to add, when she noticed the frown appearing on Grissom's face.

Glancing at Sara Grissom nodded. "What does it mean?" they asked at the same time.

Paula smiled. "Well, put simply, it means that the muscles in and around the mouth and lips, the muscles needed to produce speech aren't working together in a coordinated manner, causing in this instance a speech disorder we call cluttering."

"Cluttering?" Grissom asked with surprise.

"That's right. As I'm sure you've noticed, Sara speaks very quickly, slurred, misarticulated words tending to merge into one long one." She paused, her gaze flicking between Sara and Grissom while she gave them time to process her words.

Grissom blew out a breath, completely at a loss as to go from there. He looked at Sara, his lips forming into a smile when he noticed the fear and concern in her eyes. He reached for her hand and picked it up. "Okay," he said, turning toward the therapist. "So what do we need to do?"

Paula offered Sara a wide smile, refocusing on Grissom. "Basically, the muscles need to be exercised and strengthened. Sara's brain needs to be retrained and made aware that the information it gives out isn't necessarily what is produced."

Registering a look of surprise Grissom turned toward Sara. Her eyes were intent on the therapist. "Sara's not aware of her speech…disorder?" he asked, turning his eyes back to Paula.

She let out a sigh. "She_ knows _because she can tell we have trouble understanding her. But she can't hear the cluttering herself." She looked at Sara and smiled, looking for confirmation.

Grissom's face pursed in thought. His hand moved to his chin and he let out a deep breath, nodding. "Okay," he said quietly, rubbing the underside of his face as he tried to process all this information.

"I had a look at Sara's latest PET scan," Paula continued, and he brought his gaze back up to her, "and it appears that fortunately the part of Sara's brain that sustained most damage isn't located near the speech and language processing areas."

Grissom reached for Sara's hand again and gave it a comforting squeeze. "That's good, right?" he said, his eyes flicking between the two women.

Paula gave a confident nod. "Yes, it is." She refocused on Sara, adding, "It means that with intense speech therapy and time there's no reason why Sara's speech can't improve considerably."

"How intense?" Grissom asked.

"Well, we're going to start with four half-hour sessions a week. Maybe a little longer depending how it goes and how quickly Sara tires. We'll review in a couple of weeks."

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. "And how quickly do you expect an improvement?"

"It's hard to tell but I'm confident." She offered the pair a warm smile. "Sara sounded very determined when we spoke earlier."

Sara's fingers tensed in his hand. Turning toward her he gave them another gentle squeeze meant in reassurance. She was watching him expectantly, worriedly even, and realising she may have misconstrued his question he softened his face with a smile. "It's okay," he told her. "I didn't mean to make it sound like I was in a hurry. We have time. We have all the time in the world."

"What I'd like to do now, if you feel up to it of course," the therapist went on, addressing Sara, "is ascertain whether along with speech you lost some of your reading, spelling and counting ability too."

Paula's words felt like a punch in the stomach. The thought that Sara's injuries could have impaired her intellect was unbearable. Sara was bright, smart, one of the smartest person he knew. He tried to hide the sudden fear and worry from his eyes but couldn't. His head whipped round toward her, and he watched her uncertainly while she watched Paula. She swallowed and with a wary glance toward him nodded her head at the therapist.

"Let's start with something simple," Paula said. She asked Sara to spell her name and a few simple words. Satisfied with Sara's answers she proceeded to give her a few basic maths problems to solve, simple adding and subtracting operations, which Sara did without significant problems. By the forth one Grissom could tell she was growing impatient and frustrated. She gave a short sigh and glanced toward him, her eyes narrowed and darkened as she pleaded with him to intervene.

"Sara's math ability is slightly higher than that," he interjected with a small chuckle. He looked at Sara, lifting his shoulder in apology at his obvious understatement. "What about…the square root of eighty-one?" he asked her.

Sara gave a frown. "Nine," she replied without hesitation.

He was about to ask her the atomic number for argon when he said jokingly, "My date of birth using only single digits."

Sara's face dropped, her eyes averting to his chest.

His smile wavered uncertainly. "Sara?" he asked in a fraught whisper.

She blinked, her eyes downcast as she looked up at him, and shook her head. "Msorry," she told him. She lifted a helpless shoulder. "Donmember."

"You don't remember my date of birth?" he said in a gasp, his eyes flickering to the therapist.

Sara swallowed and gave him a slow shake of the head in reply. When she couldn't hold his gaze any longer she closed her eyes, releasing two lone tears down the side of her face, and turned away.

"What else don't you remember?" he wanted to ask, but didn't. He could only stare at the patch of shaved hair on the back of her head, dumbstruck and heartbroken, not understanding the full implications of her confession.

"That's not unusual," Paula said warmly, drawing him out of his stupor. "What about your own date of birth, Sara. Do you remember it?"

Grissom's eyes were still trained on Sara, and he watched as she gave a slow nod of the head.

"Okay," Paula said. "I think that we've done enough for today. We can start properly tomorrow."

"No," Sara said vehemently, her word so clear and forceful that it made him jump.

Her head whipped round to his, and she watched him uncertainly for a moment. He could tell that something was bothering her and he was about to ask what it was when her eyes flicked to a point beyond him. He swivelled round, following her eyes to the labrats' get-well card on the sliding table. Frowning he picked it up and when he turned back round to her, her eyes were full of tears.

"Honey?" he said, a lump suddenly forming in his throat.

She didn't meet his eye. Instead, turning toward Paula she said, "Donfink-" She paused and swallowed and shook her head.

"It's okay, Sara," Paula said. "Take your time."

"Can read," Sara finished in a halting, slurred speech. "Msorry."

Grissom's heart sank, and he brought a shaky hand to his mouth. The therapist caught his eye and smiled encouragingly, as though Sara's admission was nothing out of the ordinary. He opened his mouth, about to ask Sara what she meant by she couldn't read when the therapist shook her head at him.

"Well, why don't we check this for ourselves, huh?" she told Sara, her tone light and pleasant.

Grissom gave himself a shake of the head and refocused his gaze on Sara. She was watching him warily, and despite his heartbreak he made himself smile at her. She needed him. She needed him to be strong. He needed to be strong so she could be strong herself.

The reality of what she would have to face every day, the colossal amount of work she would have to put in to overcome her disability – all her disabilities, mental and physical – was only just beginning to sink in. The road to a recovery of sorts would be long, he knew that. He was prepared for that. And he'd be there with her every step of the way; there was no question of that. His love for her knew no bounds and he'd made a lifetime commitment to her. He had meant every single word.

"Okay," Paula said, drawing him out of his thoughts. She was holding a small book of visual cue cards toward Sara and flipping through the pages. "Can you read this letter for me?"

Sara squinted then blinked as though clearing fog from in front of her before widening her eyes. "S?" she tried hesitantly.

It was the letter Z.

Paula smiled, nodding her head, and flipped to another card. Grissom shakily set down the get-well card he was still clutching, automatically reaching for his glasses and putting them on. He looked at the cue card, smiled and watched Sara expectantly. Her face was pinched, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She blinked, plopped her head back on the pillow and shook it despondently.

"It's okay," the therapist said with an easy smile. "Let's try another card." She flipped through her book, stopping at another, simpler word and showed it to Sara.

Grissom watched, silently urging her on, his heart clenching a little tighter with every headshake she gave the therapist. His fingers found hers on the bed, squeezing tight as though imparting strength.

"Cantsit," Sara said.

Tears filled her eyes, and the fingers of his other hand gently slid over her cheek, wiping them away. His heart was breaking for her. "It's okay," he told her in a whisper, leaning close to her ear, "It's still early days." He swallowed, ran a tired hand over his face and said, "I think she's had enough. Can we stop? Please?"

Paula's smile was soft and compassionate and she lifted her finger at him, silently indicating that she wanted to try one last thing. "Okay," she then said to Sara, "I want to try one last thing and then we're done and you can have a rest. Okay?"

Sara didn't acknowledge Paula's words. She just kept her face turned away.

"Sara, honey?" Grissom called softly, brushing the back of his hand to the side of her face. "Do you want to stop?"

There was a pause and Sara shook her head.

"Mr Grissom," Paula said, "Am I right in thinking you use your glasses for close work?"

The question took him completely off guard. "Y-yes," he replied hesitantly.

"Could I borrow them? I would like Sara to try them on, see if they make any kind of difference at all." Grissom removed his glasses, holding them out and smiling at Sara while the therapist placed them on her face. "I'm inclined to think that Sara has lost some sight in her eyes rather than the ability to read. I noticed her focus seemed to be off when looking at the cards." She picked up her book, flashing the same cue card as before, and moved it very close to Sara's face.

Sara blinked uncertainly for a moment, then her face lit up. "Cat," she said hesitantly, the middle vowel stretched. Her eyes flicked to the therapist as she looked for validation of her reply and then to Grissom. "Sblurry," she told them.

"Oh, Sara," he gasped. He stood up, wrapping his arms around her in a loose embrace, his eyes suddenly full of tears at the delight and relief he saw in her face. He closed his eyes at the overwhelming rush of emotion that coursed through him and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm going to arrange for you to have a specialised eye test carried out here at the Centre," Paula told Sara. "As soon as you're fitted with the correct lenses we'll try the tests again."

Grissom felt Sara's answering nod, and he released the hold he had on her, shifting round on the bed until he made eye contact with the therapist. "How soon do you think that'll be?" he asked, finding his voice at last.

"I'm not sure, but there's no rush. There's plenty for us to start working on in the meantime."

"Thank you," Grissom said warmly, gratefully.

She gave him a modest smile before turning away to gather her things. "I'll be back tomorrow," she told Sara cheerfully, "and we can start strengthening those muscles."

"What?" Sara drew out, laughing, as soon as the door shut on the therapist.

Grissom kept his eyes fixed on her face, thinking that however different she looked now, with her new smile and glasses on, she was still the same. "Nothing," he told her, smiling wistfully, before lifting his shoulder a little self-consciously. "I love you."

"Thank," she smiled, pausing deliberately, "you."

"Whatever for?" he exclaimed with surprise.

She shrugged. "Forbin," she made herself pause again, "wivme."

His face softened with love. "I can't think of a better place for me to be than here with you."

"Loveyou," she said.

"I love you more." He laughed. "Now can I have my glasses back? Please?"


	8. Chapter 8

Laura walked down the brightly-lit corridor, quick eyes scanning the doors on either side of it for Sara's room. When as she'd signed in she'd been told by the desk clerk that Grissom was already there visiting she'd felt an immediate wave of relief, and she'd realised then how wary and apprehensive she was of seeing her daughter again.

She got to the door and stopped, her hand tightening its grip on the small suitcase she was holding as she double-checked she had the correct room. She let out a short breath and knocked, waiting for Grissom to come and open the door. When after a second more decisive knock no one answered she frowned and reaching into her pocket for the key card let herself in.

The room was darkened, the blinds pulled, allowing for the gentlest of sunlight to come in, and she blinked as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the change. At a glance she took in the spacious and nicely-decorated room, the bed directly opposite her and the two sleeping forms on it. A smile instinctively appeared on her face, dissipating some of her anxiety.

Sara lay on her back, her head square on the pillow, her face soft and serene, almost smiling. Grissom was on his side, curled around her, his face almost touching her cheek, his chin on her shoulder, his broken arm draped protectively over her chest. He'd removed his shoes, stocking feet atop the bed covers, bent knees touching Sara's covered legs. His pant leg had ridden up exposing the redraw skin of his healing wounds, and Laura sighed.

She took a few steps in, letting the door shut quietly after her, and hesitantly moved to the end of the bed. Maybe she should come back later, she thought as she put her case down, loath to disturb them when they were so peaceful. Her eyes moved to the framed photograph on the sliding table by the bedside, then to the plant, doll and card. A book lay open, spine up, his glasses sitting on top and she could well imagine Grissom's soft, rich voice as he read to her daughter.

She moved round to Grissom's side of the bed, to the table, checking the book, a brand-new paperback copy of Melville's Moby Dick. She picked up the doll, then the card, putting them down quickly when she heard Sara's soft intake and exhale of breath. Her eyes snapped round toward them and she watched as they slept, his shoulder rising and falling with every one of their breaths.

She felt a bond toward him, had ever since they'd first met, a connection she couldn't explain. Gratitude most definitely, friendship too, but also feelings that ran much deeper, she realised, mixed emotions she had no words for. Her hand lifted to his shoulder, her fingers involuntarily uncurling toward his face, but she didn't dare make contact. Grissom stirred and Laura quickly drew her hand back, standing completely still behind him lest he woke.

Coming to with a start he lifted his head off the bed, gently easing his arm off Sara's front before rolling off her onto his back.

"I'm sorry," Laura said softly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

Grissom startled for the second time, his gaze snapping round toward her. "Laura," he said with surprise, giving his eyes a wake-up rub. He checked his watch. "I wasn't expecting you until six." He wiped a hand over the corners of his mouth and slowly shuffled up into a sitting position on the bed before casting a quick glance over at Sara to make sure he hadn't disturbed her.

"I managed to catch an earlier bus," she explained quietly. He turned back and met her eyes and smiling at him she held his gaze for a moment before averting her eyes to Sara beyond him. "How is she?" she asked as she moved to the opposite side of the bed.

"She's doing okay," he replied, and she brought her gaze back up to his. He was watching Sara, soft eyes gently brushing over her face. "I'm sorry you had to find us like this." He opened his hand toward the bed, a smile suddenly breaking across his face. "That's twice today," he said in a quiet chuckle, causing Laura to frown uncertainly. "Sara was exhausted," he added after a moment, his tone serious now, "we both were."

Laura nodded and turned back toward Sara. Her hand lifted to her daughter's face hesitantly, hovering there for a moment before gently touching her cheek.

Grissom swung his legs round over the edge of the bed, his voice a hushed whisper as he said, "So many people are involved in her rehabilitation, Laura, so many new names and faces. And her schedule is…" he trailed off with a sigh, "It's a lot to take in. It's…daunting."

He pushed off the bed and turned toward her, smiling unexpectedly. It was the smile he normally kept for Sara, the slow spreading smile that softened his face and creased his eyes. "But they're confident," he said then, "All of them. It's going to be hard and painful but with time and hard work they expect her to improve, in every aspect. Her speech, her mobility," he shrugged, "her independence – everything. Now, for the first time there's real hope." His smile widened even more, his eyes dropping to Sara. "Isn't that fantastic news?"

"It is," she said, meaning it from the bottom of her heart, and yet strangely unable to share fully in his obvious delight and excitement.

Grissom lapsed into silence and Laura refocused on him, watching as sitting down he put his shoes back on.

"Has she mentioned me at all?" she asked quietly, almost diffidently.

Grissom paused, then looked up and shook his head softly. "I'm sorry, but no. Give her time," he added with a mild shrug, noticing her disappointment, "she'll come round."

Laura nodded, a wistful look on her face, and when she spoke her voice was low and resigned. "I'm not sure she will. As a little girl she was always so sure of herself and of her beliefs, so single-minded, dogged and stubborn and….and once her mind was made up there was no changing it."

"She wouldn't be Sara if she wasn't all these things," he retorted mildly, getting up. "They make her, her. Without those...qualities she wouldn't be who she is now. She wouldn't have achieved all she's achieved."

"And you wouldn't be together," Laura said, smiling as she remembered their first meeting and his heartfelt words about Sara. Was it only less than three weeks previously? It felt like she'd known him forever.

He smiled then, nodding, visibly recalling their emotional talk too. "And we wouldn't be together, no," he said softly, his eyes on Sara. His hand moved to her face and he brushed the tip of his index finger over her cheekbone. She stirred, her face instinctively seeking his touch as she let out a dreamy breath. "But she changed her mind, didn't she? Or she wouldn't still be here with us now, I'm sure of that," he finished quietly as though his words were meant for Sara.

"I know," Laura said in a murmur. "But still, in two weeks, she hasn't spoken a word to me. Not one. She barely acknowledges my presence, always tired and sleepy."

"Give her time," he repeated quietly, smiling at her, the brief half-smile giving away what his words didn't. "You being here when she woke up came as a shock to her. It's a lot for her to adjust to – and process. I'm sure she'll come round."

Laura nodded her head again, giving him a small unconvinced smile. What else could she do but wait and hope Sara would indeed come round and allow her back into her life? She didn't ask for forgiveness, or even understanding. She just wanted to be part – a small part – of her daughter's life. Now more than ever. Was that wrong? Was that too much to ask?

"Where are you staying?" he asked suddenly, drawing her out of her thoughts.

She refocused misty eyes on him. He was putting his glasses away in his pocket. "I've booked a room at the Four Aces motel on Blue Diamond Road," she said, pausing when Grissom gave a wince. "You know it?"

"I do, unfortunately." He smiled but didn't say more. "How long can you stay for?"

"Not long, I'm afraid. Just this week, and then I'll have no choice but to go back to work." Her shoulder lifted in apology. "But I'll come down every weekend and visit."

Grissom smiled and nodded, his eyes once again settling on Sara.

"You look tired," she said, hesitantly. "Why don't you go home and catch a little rest?"

He shook his head. "I'm all right."

"I'll stay with Sara," she added brightly, wanting, needing a little time alone with her daughter, "until you get back."

Grissom watched Sara for a long time, visibly debating with himself the wisdom of that decision, before catching Laura's eyes and giving her a nod of the head. "Catherine said she'd pop by later," he told her. "You remember Catherine, don't you?"

Laura nodded, watching as he turned back toward Sara, still sleeping, unaware. Leaning toward her he said, "I'm going to go now, but I'll be back later." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin as he added, "Give her a chance. That's all she asks."

He gave Sara's cheek another brush of his lips before pulling away and picking up his jacket. As soon as the door closed behind him, Sara's eyes fluttered open, meeting her mother's dead on.

A slow smile spread across Laura's features, and she blinked. "Hello, sweetheart," she said softly, hoping, praying that today was the day Sara began to allow her back into her life.

Sara stared back, her face dark, impenetrable, and Laura's smile trembled. She took a breath. Where did she start? How could she explain everything? She was filled with words she wanted to say, words she'd been rehearsing for years, but now there seemed no way to begin. Should she mention Sara's father? Apologise again for what she'd done to him all those years ago? For destroying their family and ruining hers and Mattie's lives? Should she once again beg for a second chance? A small chance to show she'd changed? That she was a good person now and worth getting to know?

"Skay," Sara said.

Laura felt tears come into her eyes and she didn't try to wipe them away. "No, Sara, it's not okay," she said. "Sara, I-" She took another small breath, stopping there.

"Don't," Sara said, seemingly guessing at her mother's inner turmoil. "Donwannaearit."

Laura frowned, her eyes narrowing uncertainly, and she shook her head at her daughter. "Oh, where do I start?" she continued earnestly, not understanding Sara's words. "Sara, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I am so sorry for everything that I've done, for never being there for you when-"

Sara scrunched her eyes shut. Her head began to shake on the pillow, causing Laura's words to die on her lips.

"Sara, love, what is it? You're in pain?" she asked, her voice suddenly full of concern as she picked up her daughter's hand. "Shall I call for help?"

Sara's eyes snapped open, dark, cold and narrowed, and Laura swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Averting her gaze at the anger she clearly saw there she stared blurrily at her daughter's slender fingers in her hand, and at the ring Grissom had threaded there, before forcing her gaze back up.

Sara must have glimpsed at the emotion the memory had triggered for her expression had somewhat softened and she was watching her mother with questions in her eyes. She felt Sara's fingers tense up in her hand, then withdraw a little, but Laura held on. This was her chance. She had to get Sara to understand she loved her still and that she wasn't going to leave and abandon her as she had done in the past. But how?

Her eyes lowered to Sara's hand and she knew. She knew where to begin. Unexpectedly her face lit up and she pinched her lips, her fingers gently brushing over the pink tourmaline ring – Grissom's grandmother's ring, she remembered.

"Death can never do us part," she said in a fraught whisper quoting the inscription he'd had engraved. Tears once again filled her eyes as she refocused her eyes on Sara. She swallowed. "I've never been witness to so much love and devotion before. The moment he put that ring on your finger was so beautiful, Sara, so moving and intimate, heartfelt. It was like he was finally complete. I felt so honoured to be there, to be asked to be a part of…" Her words trailed off and she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

Sara's eyes were full of tears as she lowered them to the ring on her finger, her words disbelieving gasps. "Youwre," she paused, and took a breath, "There?"

Laura gave a slow nod through her tears. "And Captain Brass was too. Just the three of us, and you."

Sara's eyes lost their focus, her brow furrowed uncertainly as though she was trying to remember.

"He thought you'd given up," Laura went on. "He'd resigned himself to the fact that you wanted to go. And he made that commitment to you regardless." She blinked, once, twice, and forced a smile.

Sara's face was unreadable. "When?" she asked, refocusing dark eyes onto her mother.

Laura glanced down, hesitating. "The day before you gave us the first signs that you were waking up," she replied finally, swallowing the painful memories of what she had been about to do, what she would have done if Brass hadn't stopped her. "He changed your mind, didn't he?"

Sara closed her eyes and shook her head, mumbling something about it being all like a dream, but Laura couldn't be sure.

"You're so lucky Sara," she went on earnestly, "To have found a love so unconditional, so-"

"Lucky?" Sara exclaimed in a whisper, cutting Laura off mid-sentence. "Lucky?" she cried out, causing the older woman to give a start. "Lookame," she said. "Look - ame," she repeated slowly, and Laura refocused her eyes on Sara's face, on Sara's murderous eyes. Her jaw was clenched, her breathing slow and laboured, raspy breaths in and out through her nose.

"I'm sorry," Laura said in a gasp, realising Sara had misunderstood what she'd meant by her words.

"Luckywhen - lostevryfing?" Sara continued, talking over her mother's apology. "Luckywhendonmember?" She made herself pause then and closed her eyes, catching her breath, her chest heaving with the effort it took just to suck air into her lungs and let it out again.

Alarmed, Laura searched with her eyes for the call button.

"Donmember, Mom," Sara said, her eyes reopening, suddenly calmer. The anger in her eyes had made way to intense sorrow, silent tears spilling down the side of her face. Laura's heart tightened and she reached a soft hand toward her daughter, wiping her tears away. "Ourlife, ourlove. Donmembernofin."

Laura paused, and took a moment to replay Sara's words in her mind until she made sense of them. "You don't remember?" she asked in a fraught whisper, her eyes boring into her daughter's intently.

Sara gave her mother a long continuous shake of the head.

Laura knew instinctively that Sara wasn't referring to the attack, or to their common past, but rather to her life with Grissom. "Nothing at all?"

Another shake of the head and more tears fell. "Allgone. Ivenofin."

Laura's hands moved to her daughter's face and she wiped around her eyes. "Does he know? Do the doctors?"

"No."

Laura watched her daughter while the implications of what she'd just been confessed truly sank in.

As if reading her mother's mind Sara said, "Cantellim."

"Oh, you got to tell him, Sara," Laura said earnestly.

A look of fear flashed across Sara's eyes. "No. Breakiseart."

Laura frowned, Sara's speech too quick and slurred for her to understand it. "It's going to break his heart if you don't tell him," she went on, keeping with her former train of thought. "He'll understand. He's a good man. He _loves _you. He knows none of this is your fault. He'll-"

"Leave," Sara cut in.

Laura startled, her eyes suddenly widening with fear. "You want me to leave?"

Sara closed her eyes, took a few slow breaths and shook her head. "He'll - leave," she said, making herself pause between each word.

"No, Sara," Laura said warmly. She smiled. "He could never leave you. He could never do that. Not after what you did for him."

Laura's words visibly gave Sara pause. She watched her mother for a moment, her expression shifting, her eyes suddenly dry.

"You need to tell him," Laura said. "He needs to know. He deserves to know."

The mood had changed and Sara had retreated back onto herself. "Mademistake," she said, watching her mother intently, scanning her face for a reaction. "Cantrustyou."

There was a pause while Laura considered Sara's words. Could this be a test? she wondered. Her chance to make amends and prove she could be trusted? And what about Grissom's trust?

"You can trust me, Sara," Laura said solemnly, holding her daughter's gaze meaningfully, "I'm your mother, and I love you. I don't agree with what you're doing and I think he should know. I think you should tell him, but he won't hear it from me."

They watched each other for a moment longer until Sara nodded and lowered her eyes. "Tired," she said, looking up and flicking her eyes over to the table, ending the conversation. "Music."

Laura paused, and followed Sara's eyes to the iPod. She let out a long despondent breath, kicking herself for yet again making a mess of things, and picked up the device. Slowly she unwound the cord before turning toward Sara.

"You can shut me out, Sara, but you won't drive me away. This time, I'm here to stay."

Her eyes closed and her face turned away, Sara didn't acknowledge her mother's words.

Laura sighed and gently eased the buds into Sara's ears. She switched the iPod on and when Mick Jagger's muffled voice filled the silence a wistful smile formed on her lips. How many times had Sara sneaked into her brother's room when she was little and borrowed this very record? She realised then that whether Sara liked it or not, they were still mother and daughter and that, however ugly, they shared a common past and hopefully a future together.

No. She told Grissom she'd stay with Sara until he got back, and that's exactly what she was going to do.

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><p>AN: If you're interested in reading about it, Grissom and Laura's first meeting and the conversation I'm referring to at the beginning of the chapter can be found in chapter 44 of A Crime Too Far.


	9. Chapter 9

Grissom checked the time and, shaking his head at how late he was, eased the Mercedes round Warrick's Mustang and onto Catherine's drive. He killed the engine, his eyes on the front door as he took a moment to catch his breath before heading in. Secretly he was glad Catherine had arranged for Warrick to come round, albeit under false pretences, and he was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up.

He already knew, of course, that his young protégé had made a full recovery after McKay's frenzied attack and that before discharging him the doctors in Reno had given him a clean bill of health. But he regretted never getting the opportunity – or maybe, he thought wistfully, never _taking_ the opportunity – to thank him properly for what he had done, and he wanted to put that right.

Recently he'd been thinking a lot about what had happened then, about how the young CSI had risked his life for him, not once but twice, and about what it all meant. He had no doubt that without Warrick's intervention McKay would have gotten her wish. He felt proud at Warrick's selfless actions, but guilty too, humbled and indebted for the second chance at life, and at a life with Sara, he'd been given.

Slowly, he got out of the car and before he'd even gotten to the front door he could hear Hank panting and whimpering for him on the other side. He slotted his key into the lock, letting himself in to the boxer's effusive and affectionate welcome. He met Hank's eyes briefly, but when a fresh pang of sadness twisted his heart he found himself unable to return Hank's affection, gently nudging him out of the way instead.

"I was beginning to think you'd stood me up," Warrick said casually, just as he was shutting the door.

Grissom turned round with a start, meeting the younger man's eye with weary smile. Warrick was leaning against the kitchen doorjamb a beer can in one hand and a wide pleasurable grin on his face. "I'm sorry, Rick," he said, "I drove Laura to her motel. We got chatting a little and I lost track of time."

"Hey, Griss, it's okay," Warrick said, his smile dropping suddenly. "I was only messing with you." He took a step toward Grissom, opening an arm as if coming to hug him. At the last moment he seemed to hesitate, his hand coming to a rest on Grissom's shoulder for a warm, if somewhat awkward pat. "It's good to see you," he said, his tone solemn.

"You too, Warrick," Grissom replied warmly, holding the younger man's gaze. He glanced down suddenly, his mouth opening as he searched for the words to convey his gratitude and tell Warrick how highly he thought of him.

But before he could form the words, Warrick lifted his beer can at him, cutting short his tentativeness as he said, "You want one?"

And just like that the moment was lost. Grissom looked up and smiled. "Sure," he replied, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it up on the rack.

Smiling broadly, Warrick disappeared through the kitchen door, re-emerging a second later with another can. "How is Laura?" he asked, pulling out the ring and holding it out to him while suggesting with a nod that they should move next door. "When I went to see Sara with Nick earlier, you'd already left."

Taking the beer with his left hand Grissom preceded Warrick into the lounge, Hank forlornly following behind. Music was playing quietly in the background; some R&B track Lindsey seemed to be rather fond of. She was sitting cross-legged on the rug, her back against the couch, totally immersed in texting on her cell.

"She's okay," he replied, his eyes coming to rest on the chessboard on the coffee table. "She's come down for the week. She's staying at the Four Aces."

"Ouch."

Grissom looked up and round. "Yeah, that's what I thought. We tried a few different places, but at such short notice, no luck."

Warrick gave a thoughtful nod. "Couldn't she have stayed at Sara's place?"

Grissom pursed his face. The thought had crossed his mind, but unsure as to how Sara would have felt about it he hadn't mentioned it. He'd thought about suggesting the townhouse too, but couldn't bring himself to it.

"She still got it, hasn't she?" Warrick asked as he took up his seat on the easy chair across from Lindsey.

"Yeah," he replied, a smile unexpectedly breaking across his face as he picked up the undertone of Warrick's question. "She's got another six months or so left on the lease." His shoulder rose. "It was easier for work that way."

"Hey, for the record I wasn't asking," Warrick defended with an easy chuckle. "But since you're offering…"

Grissom laughed. "Sara and I got together a little more than a year ago," he surprised himself saying.

Warrick spluttered, choking on his beer. "As long as that?"

Grissom lifted his shoulder as if it was no big deal. "It was hardly long enough," he then said, suddenly wistful for the past. "Not when it could have been seven," he left unsaid.

Picking up on the change of mood, Warrick lapsed into silence and took another long swig of his beer before reaching forward to set it down on the table. "I've been teaching Linds here all my best moves," he said, giving a nod to the game abandoned mid-play.

"I'm not very good," she said, briefly glancing up from her cell at them.

Grissom had completely forgotten the teenager's presence in the room. "We've all got to start somewhere" he told her, smiling.

Lindsey's eyes flicked to Hank obediently sat on his hind legs next to Grissom, her smile fading. "You mind if we stop?" she then asked Warrick, getting up. She waved her cell in front of her. "I_ really_ need to return Hayley's call."

Smiling, Warrick rolled his eyes over-dramatically. "Go ahead, girlfriend," he said in his easy manner, "but remember what your mother said."

"I know, I know," Lindsey said, moving toward the door. "Homework."

"Oh, and thanks for the game," Warrick called out as she disappeared. There was no reply, only quick eager footsteps rushing up the stairs.

Grissom took a sip of beer and set the can down on the table. "Lily's not here?" he asked, taking a seat across from Warrick on the couch, Hank lying down by his feet.

Warrick shook his head. "She's gone out with Sam for a meal," he said, adding when Grissom lifted his brow, "We're not supposed to know, so no word to you-know-who, alright?"

Grissom pursed his face, unsure how he felt about being made to keep secrets from Catherine, especially where Sam Braun was concerned. The man was trouble, Catherine's father or not and despite what he had done for Nick.

"Oh, that reminds me," the young CSI said suddenly, his eyes on the board as he began putting chess pieces back on their respective squares, "There's leftover casserole in the oven."

Grissom sighed. "Later, maybe. I'm not hungry right now."

Warrick looked up, his smile on the concerned side. "Lily said you might say that." He hesitated briefly before adding, "You're looking after yourself, right?"

"Warrick…" Grissom said in a warning tone.

Warrick's shoulder rose in apology. "It's only because we care," he defended weakly, looking down as he finished setting up the game.

Annoyed with himself at his impatience Grissom sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. It's just that Catherine…well, I'm grateful for all she's doing, I am, but I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself. I don't need mothering."

Warrick nodded. "Message received."

"Good."

Putting an end to the conversation Grissom put his glasses on and without delay played the first move, opening with a standard manoeuvre, which Warrick swiftly mirrored. They played the next four moves in quick succession before Warrick sighed, pausing and rubbing his chin as he pondered his next move or maybe his next words to Grissom.

"What happened with Greg this morning?" he asked, aiming for casualness but failing miserably.

Grissom blew out a breath, his irritation at Warrick's attempt at conversation evident. "Can we just get on with the game?" he said more curtly than he intended. He took a breath. "Please?"

"Sure."

Picking up on Warrick's glum tone Grissom sighed and then glanced up, stealing a look at his friend over the top of his glasses. Warrick meant well, he knew that, and he shouldn't have been so short. "I'm sorry, Rick," he said, waiting until the CSI had looked up to form his lips into a smile and add, "I didn't mean to snap. I just…" he faltered and lifted his shoulder in apology.

"Don't need mothering," Warrick finished for him.

His smile broadening Grissom nodded. They watched each other for a moment before Grissom once again returned his attention to the chessboard. He pondered his next move for a moment before opting to slide his bishop across. "I-I don't think I…ever got the opportunity to thank you properly, for what you did," he began hesitantly, flicking his gaze back up to Warrick's face, "You know with McKay. First when you got me out of the car, and then at the hospital. Without you I wouldn't be here to…" he sighed, "I just wouldn't be here."

If Warrick was surprised by Grissom's heartfelt words he didn't show it. He simply paused, looking up and meeting Grissom's eyes with a soft smile. "Don't mention it," he said quietly, quickly dropping his eyes back to the board and making his move. "I didn't do anything you wouldn't have."

"Still," Grissom insisted, "It was well beyond the call of duty, and I'm…" he shrugged uncertainly.

This time Warrick held Grissom's gaze when he said, "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Grissom smiled and nodded his understanding. "How's Tina?" he then asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he once again focused on the game, swiftly moving his knight to F6.

Just as quickly Warrick played his move, stealing Grissom's knight with his queen. "She's good."

Grissom's brow rose, a smile twitching on his lips at Warrick's bold move. "Are…things a little better between the two of you?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the board, aiming for a casual tone.

"Sara put you up to this?"

Grissom's eyes snapped up, meeting Warrick's probing gaze. "No. No, I-"

"You don't have to do this, you know? Small talk," Warrick said in his usual easy manner. "I'm quite happy with a silent game. I'm still going to kick your ass."

"I know," Grissom said softly. "But I want to know. I'm interested."

"Things are a little better," Warrick said after a moment. "We've talked. What happened in Reno hasn't made our problems go away but it's kind of put stuff into perspective, you know?" His shoulder rose. "We're talking. We're taking it one day at a time. See how it goes."

"That's good," Grissom said with a nod, the words striking a chord with him too. He refocused on the game, about to make his next move when he paused. "You know, you don't have to be here," he said in a sigh, glancing up. "Why don't you go home? Take Tina out to a movie or-"

Warrick smiled. "She's working nights this week."

"Oh." Grissom gave a nod of understanding.

"It's your turn," Warrick said a little hesitantly.

Grissom pulled a face, his eyes returning to the board. "I know," he said, staring at the pieces without much enthusiasm. "My mind's not on the game, that's all."

Warrick laughed. "I can see that." Grissom looked up. "No, I meant, now it's your turn to talk to me. Something's bothering you, I can tell. And it's not me and Tina, or Catherine's overprotection."

Grissom forced a smile. "It's nothing." But it wasn't '_nothing'_, was it? He shook his head and sighed, his shoulder lifting as he finally admitted, "Sara's been calling me Gilbert."

Warrick let out a hearty laugh. "Man, I'm sorry to be the one to have to break it to you, but that's your name."

Grissom's hand dropped to his mouth and he met his friend's eye dead on. His expression told him in no uncertain terms that this was no laughing matter.

"Sorry," Warrick said, quickly sobering up. "Okay. So, why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. And that's what's bothering me." Grissom reached across for his beer and took a long pull, his head shaking in uncertainty. "I don't know," he said again, putting his beer down, "it just doesn't ring true. I can't explain it." He shrugged. "Sara never calls me that, Warrick. I mean, it's always been Grissom, and Gil, more recently," he added softly, a wistful smile curling his lip. He sighed, refocused his eyes on Warrick, and shrugged again. "Never Gilbert. Never. Not like she's doing now."

Warrick pulled a face as he pondered his friend's words. "I don't know what to say."

Grissom flashed the young CSI an uneasy smile.

"Have you asked her about it?"

"No."

Warrick leaned back into his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Why don't you? I'm sure there's a simple explanation."

Grissom waved his hand in front of him, dismissing the idea. "I can't."

"You know, maybe it's just that she finds it difficult to say 'Grissom'."

Grissom stroked the back of his index finger over his lips in thought. "But why would she want to call me Grissom when all these past months she's been calling me Gil?"

Warrick shrugged. "Beats me," he said, leaning forward, and reaching for his beer. He was about to bring it to his lips when he said, "Does it matter what she calls you?"

"No, not at all," Grissom said quickly, holding Warrick's gaze. "It's just…disconcerting, that's all. It's…just not Sara. She knows I don't like it. And there's other stuff too. Nothing I can really put my finger on, though." His eyes filled unexpectedly and he shrugged. The concern in Warrick's eyes instead of making him look away somehow had the opposite effect, and Grissom found himself doing something he'd never done before – willingly open up.

"Sara – she knows me, you know?" he went on, his voice soft and a little sad, "She gets me. We've always had this-"

"Connection," Warrick prompted when Grissom faltered.

"Yeah. And now, it feels different. She feels different. She's still the same, and yet she's not, and I'm not talking about the physical changes. That I can handle, but I…" he sighed and shook his head, "it's the thought that maybe we've lost that…connection. I-I can't explain it."

"And do you think you have? Lost that connection, I mean."

Grissom lifted a shoulder while he pondered Warrick's words. A sudden smile broke across his face. "No. Not for me anyway, no." His lips pinched. "But I catch her watching me, studying me like I'm some piece of evidence she's trying to make sense of. She doesn't remember my date of birth either, which is puzzling because her cognitive ability is otherwise sound. And then there's the plant."

"The plant?"

Grissom nodded. Telling Warrick about the plant and its significance suddenly was too much, too intimate, and he couldn't bring himself to.

"You know, Sara's bound to have changed," Warrick said warmly, drawing him out of his thoughts. "You said it yourself, we still don't know the true impact her brain injury's had overall. The physical stuff they can measure but the rest-"

"I know." He gave his head a shake, forcing a smile. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm tired. You're right I'm probably reading too much into it."

Lapsing into silence he tried to return his attention back on the game but it was no use. Warrick's cell chose this moment to beep with a text message, and the CSI half-stood, fishing into his back pocket for the device. He pressed a few keys, sighing as he read out, "402, warehouse off the Expressway."

"Catherine must be desperate," Grissom said, "to pull you out of _this_ very important assignment."

Laughing, Warrick pushed up to his feet, Hank swiftly following suit and giving himself a shake. "I look forward to a rematch."

His lips twitching with a smile Grissom moved his queen across, ready to take his opponent's bishop with. "That'll give you something to think about," he said, smugly.

Warrick's face scrunched up with a frown and he leaned down, studying the board intently. He shook his head, pressed a few keys on his phone and lined up a shot of the table.

"What are you doing?" Grissom asked with surprise.

"You didn't think I'd forfeit the game, did you?" Warrick replied, looking up, grinning broadly. He shook his head over-dramatically. "This is not over. Merely postponed."

Grissom laughed, watching as Warrick reached for his jeans jacket on the back of his chair and shrugged it on. "I'd rather you took Tina out than spend another night off keeping me company," he said in all seriousness, pushing up to his feet to see Warrick out. "Cherish what you've got while you still got it."

Warrick gave a solemn nod of understanding. His cell beeped again, causing both men to smile. "Anything you want me to tell Catherine when I report back?" he asked, moving to the door. Hank followed him, then seemed to think better of it, promptly returning to Grissom's side.

"Just that I'm perfectly capable of spending a little time on my own."

"I'll be in touch," Warrick said with a chuckle before disappearing out of the door, leaving just a man and his dog.

Hank let out a whimper, and Grissom looked down, smiling at the dog's forlorn expression. "What am I going to do with you, huh?" he said softly, lowering his hand to the boxer's head, his fingers hesitantly uncurling toward him. Hank raised his head, stroking his snout against his hand, before letting out a small bark.

Grissom pursed his face with amusement in recognition of that particular bark. "It's that time again, is it?" he asked with a sigh. "Come on then, let's go."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you, Jem, for your suggestion. It came at just the right time.

Thank you again to everybody for the wonderful reviews. Keep them and your ideas coming, they make for a better story.

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><p>At exactly seven-thirty the following morning, a blast of loud music woke Grissom from his sleep with all the subtlety of a SWAT raid. Jolting awake with a gasp he lifted his plastered arm up in the air and turned onto his back. His heart was racing. Beyoncé's chorus of '<em>Got me looking so crazy right now,'<em> was abruptly cut short, replaced by a sleepily muttered, "Sorry."

He leaned his head back on the pillow and took a moment to catch his breath, his mind taking him back to the previous evening. As he'd walked Hank round the block and then later laid in bed wide awake he'd thought of nothing else than Warrick's casually thrown 'Have you asked her about it?' Why hadn't he? Why couldn't he just ask her why she'd suddenly begun calling him Gilbert? Was it because he was afraid her answer would hide a more sinister truth?

"Like what?" he asked himself for the umpteenth time, swiftly dismissing the idea with a shake of the head. She was still his Sara, albeit changed, and he would just have to get used to the new her, and stop pining for the past, a past that could be no more. "At least we still have a future together," he said aloud, "That's all that matters."

Still, today he'd ask her. They'd passed the stage of pussyfooting around each other and second-guessing what was in their minds. He'd be casual about it, jokey even, but he _would_ ask her. He needed to know. He needed to know she still felt the same way about him and that calling him 'Gilbert' wasn't her way of distancing herself from him, even subconsciously. There he'd said it. He was afraid of losing her, that the trauma to her brain could have somehow altered what she felt for him. McKay hadn't managed to kill Sara, but he feared that maybe she had succeeded in killing her love for him, taking Sara away from him that way instead.

He pinched his lips and sighing pushed the covers back. Slowly he swung his legs over the side of the bed, almost stepping over Hank lying there on the rug. He let another long breath, his eyes flicking to the door as he wondered how yet again the boxer had managed to open a door he was sure he'd shut, all on his own. At least this time, he thought with a small smile, he hadn't sneaked his way into his bed and into his arms.

Pulling his robe around him, he stopped by the bathroom, then made his way downstairs to let Hank out and set about making breakfast. He was at the table, his left hand wrapped around a cup of tea, half-way through reading an article about house prices and the economic downturn when Lindsey finally came down. He looked up, wanly smiling his greeting. Still wearing her pyjamas and looking disheveled and sleepy she rubbed at her eyes and took the seat across from him where he'd set a plate with toast and a glass of orange juice for her.

"I'm sorry about the alarm," she said, grabbing a piece of toast and taking a small nibble from it.

"It's okay. I like Beyoncé," he said pleasantly.

Lindsey paused, the piece of toast hanging in mid-air, the look of surprise on her face saying it all.

"Okay," he amended softly, his smile broadening in amusement, "Sara does. I prefer…" he pursed his face, searching for the right words, finally settling for, "older stuff."

"That figures." Before Grissom could ask what she meant by that a frown had appeared on her face. "Where's Hank?" she asked, looking all around her for the boxer.

Grissom's eyes flicked to the back door. "He's in the yard."

Lindsey sighed, her gaze dropping to the table. She took another bite of toast, quickly washing it down with some juice. Then she pulled a face, seemingly debating with herself, hesitating, and Grissom braced himself for what he knew was coming.

Meeting his gaze dead on she said, "You know, there's a nice park down the road he likes to go to. Why don't you take him there? The yard's too small for him."

"I'm taking you to school," Grissom replied matter-of-fact.

"I can always call grandma."

"No. I told her I'd take you if your mother wasn't back."

"She won't be," Lindsey said in a sigh. "She sent me a text, saying she wouldn't make it. That she had a meeting with rat face."

Grissom's brow shot up. "Rat _face_?"

"Sorry," Lindsey said, not looking contrite in the slightest. She mimed quote marks, adding, "I meant, Lab Director Ecklie. I know he's your boss and everything but he's a jerk. Mom deserved that dayshift supervisor promotion last year."

Grissom couldn't help the amused twitch of his lips; adults words spoken by a child, and obviously overheard. Lindsey's mention of Ecklie and the lab served to remind him though that maybe it was time he thought about going back to work and take some of the load off Catherine.

"Can I ask you something?" she then asked, refocusing his attention.

He had the feeling that even if he said "No" she'd ask anyway. The apple never falls far from the tree, he thought fondly. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he smiled, "Sure."

Briefly flicking her eyes away she took a deep breath. "I heard mom and grandma talk, and they say Hank makes you sad, that he reminds you too much of Sara and the attack, and that's why you don't want him in your room."

That he hadn't expected. Grissom blinked and swallowed, his left hand moving to his face. Lowering it quickly, he took a sip of tea for something to do to hide the sudden piercing pain ripping through him. He thought about rebuking her, but he didn't. Anybody else he would have told to mind their own business. But the young girl's obvious concern for Hank's well-being, the caring and innocent tone in her words pulled at his heart. His eyes on his tea he forced a nod.

"I know he's your dog and everything, and that we can't keep him," Lindsey went on earnestly. "But I don't mind looking after him for you while Sara's in the hospital, you know? Keep him out of your way. I promise to walk him and feed him, not to open your bedroom door so he can sneak in, but please can you not send him away?"

The words took a moment to permeate. "Send him away?" he repeated after a beat, doing a double take as he looked up. "What gave you that idea?"

Lindsey's shoulder rose. "Mom said that-"

"Your mom talks too much."

Lindsey's face scrunched up into a frown. "So you're not going to send him away to a shelter?"

Grissom's smile was very sad, and he shook his head. "I could never do that, Lindsey. He's not just my dog, but Sara's too, and she loves him." He paused, and took a breath. "Hank does make me sad, but I'm sure that with time it'll get better."

Right on cue they heard whimpering coming from outside and after putting her toast down Lindsey went to open the door to let Hank in. Tail wagging animatedly, the boxer pushed his way past, headed straight for his food and water.

Grissom smiled. "You like having a dog around?"

"Yeah," Lindsey said categorically, "But mom says no pets. Well, apart from Hank, of course," she added quickly, "She likes having _him_ around."

"I'm sure," Grissom said, a chuckle escaping despite himself. "I tell you what. Sara's got a busy morning today. So what do you say if after I drop you off at school I take Hank for a long walk?" His eyes flicked to the boxer who was watching the interaction avidly, as if knowing he was the centre of attention, "To one of his favourite places?"

Smiling victoriously, Lindsey turned toward the boxer and winked at him and Grissom could only shake his head at the feeling that he'd been played.

"You think Sara would like me to go visit?" she asked hesitantly, keeping her eyes on Hank.

Taken aback by the unexpectedness of the question Grissom paused, and took a moment before he answered, stalling for time.

"I'd only spend a little time with her," she continued more earnestly, turning toward him. "She must be real bored. I could take my makeup kit with me. Give her a makeover…" A shiver ran through Grissom as images of McKay giving Sara a makeover filled his mind. Bile rose up in his throat and he clenched his eyes shut. "…paint her nails maybe," Lindsey was now saying, totally unaware of his inner turmoil, "do her hair a little, that kind of stuff."

Grissom took a breath, and then another, willing himself to stay calm and not blow at Lindsey. She was just a kid. She didn't know. Besides, he told himself, McKay was dead, so was Martin Wallis, and young Jimmy, well, he was in jail. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly.

"No," he told Lindsey. The word didn't come out, and he reopened his eyes. Lindsey had stopped talking and was watching his expectantly. "No," he said again, forcing the words out. "I don't think Sara would like that."

Lindsey's face dropped. "Oh," she said in a whisper, her disappointment evident.

Realising his gaffe Grissom said, softening his tone, "I meant that I'm sure Sara would like for you to visit, but not yet. You know Lindsey, Sara's not the same as before." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She tires easily."

"I know. I just thought that-"

Grissom sighed. "The makeover's not a good idea," he said quietly, mustering a small comforting smile. "It's not her thing at all, you know?"

"Oh. Okay. It's just that I heard mom tell grandma that-" Lindsey paused mid-sentence, visibly realising this time that what she'd overheard wasn't to be repeated. "It's okay."

"I tell you what," he said, relenting at the teenager's overwhelming disappointment. He pushed to his feet. "Let's give Sara another week or two to get used to her new routine and then we'll ask her how she feels about you visiting. How does that sound?"

A bright smile broke across Lindsey's face. "Awesome."

"Good," Grissom said, his smile widening at the overused adjective. "Now you'd better finish breakfast and get ready, or we'll be late, and I don't want your mother on my back any more than she is now."

Lindsey laughed. "You and me both."

By the time he got to Torrey Pines it was past two pm. On the spur of the moment he'd decided to take Hank out to Lake Mead, regretting his decision almost as soon as he'd gotten there. Too many memories of happier times, most of them spent with Sara. Still, they'd had a walk on the beach, taken a rest on a spit of boulders jetting out into the lake before they'd headed back. Next time he'd come, he'd decided, next time_they'd_ come, Sara would be with them.

"Mr Grissom," the front desk clerk greeted as Grissom signed the visitor's book to be handed his pass, "I'm afraid they're running a little late with Sara's physical therapy."

"Anything I should be aware of?" he asked pleasantly.

After a brief hesitation the clerk flashed him a smile, saying, "Dr Williamson asked to be told as soon as you got here. He can explain everything to you."

"Is Sara okay?" he asked, alarm creeping into his voice. He rubbed a weary hand down his face.

"She is," the clerk said positively. Quickly reaching for the phone, she brought it to her ear and pressed a couple of keys. "Let me see if Dr Williamson's in his office."

Grissom let out a long breath, all kinds of scenarios of what could have happened flashing through his brain. After a brief telephone exchange the clerk directed him to the doctor's office. The door was open and Dr Williamson looked up as soon as Grissom got there.

"Mr Grissom," he said, closing the open file on his desk as he got to his feet. Smiling he walked round the desk and opened out a hand. "Come in and take a seat."

Grissom gingerly stepped into the office, closing the door after him. "Is Sara okay?" he asked again.

"She is, yes. I believe the physical therapist is with her now."

Taking a seat across from the doctor, Grissom gave a nod. "The desk clerk implied that-"

Dr Williamson's hand lifted, interrupting Grissom. "Sara didn't have a good night," he said quietly, kindly, "and I'm afraid we had to sedate her. Hence now she's running late with her morning programme."

"What happened?"

The doctor took a breath. "According to the nursing staff on shift last night Sara woke up distressed, crying and screaming. We think she had a nightmare, or maybe a night terror."

Grissom's hand moved to his face. The thought that Sara had had to go through this ordeal on her own broke his heart. "Do you know what triggered it?"

"No, and Sara won't talk about it to any of the staff."

"Could she have remembered the attack, maybe?"

Dr Williamson's shoulder rose in ambivalence. "It's possible, but when I asked her about it she just clammed up. I was going to wait until tonight to have a chat to her again."

"Why wasn't I called?"

Dr Williamson smiled. "We can't be calling you every time something happens. Sara and the staff need to learn to work together and trust each other. I would have called if we hadn't been able to calm Sara, but we did."

"Yeah, by giving her a sedative."

"A mild one."

Grissom nodded. "You know, with the work we do, we've seen our fair share of…trauma, and Sara's always taken it to heart. What I'm trying to say is that…well, Sara's always had nightmares for as long I've known her. Not recently, though."

"I'll make a note of it, but again it is not uncommon with the type of injuries Sara sustained to-"

"I know," he cut in with a sigh. "I know." He refocused his attention on the doctor and gave him a sad smile. "Could you call me next time something like that happens? Just to let me know? I don't have to come down to the centre if you don't feel it necessary, but I would like to know. You see, I drove out to Lake Mead this morning with Hank when I could have come and seen Sara, even if briefly. I could have reassured her."

Dr Williamson nodded his head in understanding. "I'll make sure you get told, but we don't want you coming down every time." His shoulder lifted, his face taking on a serious expression. "It would only undermine what the staff is trying to do with Sara."

"I understand that."

The doctor glanced down, hesitating. "I wasn't aware you had a son."

"A son?" Grissom repeated with surprise.

"Hank?"

"Oh," he said in a small chuckle. "No, Hank's our dog." His expression turned wistful. "He…he misses Sara, and Sara misses him."

"Well, why don't you bring him in?"

Grissom's brow shot up. "I could?"

"Sure," Dr Williamson replied easily, "As long as his vaccinations are all up to date, of course. We have dogs come in all the time. They help patients with their therapies. 'Pet therapies' we call them." Grissom's face pursed with interest. "There are a number of organisations that train and register dogs and their owners," the doctor went on. "At Torrey Pines we use a local branch of Therapy Dogs Inc. It might be as simple as a patient petting and stroking the animals. Some patients might wish to brush the dog or to just look at the dog. If the dog is small enough, with permission, people can hold them in their laps or the dog can be carefully placed on the bed. These activities, including walking alongside the dog and owner and throwing toys for fetching games, provide therapeutic contact."

"I didn't know such scheme existed," Grissom mused.

The doctor got up, walked to a book shelf on the far wall and pulled out a brochure, which he held out to Grissom. "There's a local number on the front you can call if you're interested."

Grissom took the Therapy Dogs Inc. brochure and began flicking through it, a smile forming on his lips as he came across the picture of a teenage boy with Down Syndrome holding a fluffy Bichon Frise and grinning with delight at the camera.

"Obviously for insurance purposes," Dr Williamson was now saying, and Grissom looked up, "only Sara could have contact with Hank, and you'd have to be present at all times and responsible for the dog."

Grissom got to his feet. "I'll think about it. I'm not sure seeing Hank is the best thing for Sara yet."

"That's entirely up to you," the doctor said easily.

Nodding, Grissom moved toward the door. "Thank you," he said, lifting the brochure. "I'll go and see Sara now. Maybe she'll talk to me."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: All mistakes, especially the medical ones, are mine and mine only.

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><p>"That's good, Sara," said the gentle voice of the physical therapist as she once again manipulated her patient's wrist, hand and fingers on the right side.<p>

She had spent the last hour and a half working articulations in Sara's lower and upper body limbs while stimulating the muscles and massaging the nerves and tendons. Those simple motor exercises were meant to strengthen the muscles, improve the range of motion and prevent muscle and joint stiffness – passive manipulation which Sara had no control over. But it was thought that in time as the brain relearned basic functions Sara would take a more active role in her therapy until she could develop relative independence.

"You've done really well." The therapist gently lowered Sara's right arm back onto the bed before announcing brightly, "We're done for the day."

Sara startled, and shook her head at the therapist. Something was happening, she could feel it. Her eyes intent on her hand, she tried moving it, sighing despondently when she couldn't manage even a small twitch. "No," she said, her eyes welling with tears of frustration, "not yet. I want to carry on." She looked up, meeting the therapist's compassionate eyes. "Pease, Marcy, I want you to continue."

"Sara, this is only your first session," Marcy replied after a moment. "You got to give yourself and your body time." She gave Sara a warm smile and her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We'll continue tomorrow."

Blinking back tears Sara shook her head again.

"Sometimes less is more, you know?"

"Not with me," she said resolutely.

Marcy let out a small chuckle. "I'm supposed to be the one working you hard, not the other way round!"

"Please."

"I can see I'm going to have my work cut out with you," the therapist said in a relenting sigh.

Sara's eyes dropped back to her hand, her grunt as she once again tried moving it and failing, telling.

"All right," Marcy said, picking up her patient's arm, "But you can't be expecting miracles. Physical therapy takes time, and patience," she added tellingly. "But it takes a lot of hard work too, and I can see you got plenty of that." Sara looked up, her face breaking into a smile of gratitude. "One more time only, though, and then I'm packing up. There is such thing as overdoing it."

Sara's nod was determined. "I know I can do it."

"I know you can do it too, sweetie," Marcy replied, her voice full of warmth and empathy, "but maybe not today, huh? I'll come again tomorrow and the next day, and the day after that, and we'll keep trying. We'll keep going until we get there, however long it takes."

Slowly, she began massaging Sara's upper arm, manipulating the shoulder and elbow, then the wrist, hand and fingers, following the intricate web of nerves and tendons through to the palm of Sara's hand. Sara closed her eyes and concentrated all her senses on feeling Marcy's soft, skilful hands on her skin.

"Sara," Marcy said in a murmur after a moment, "Open your eyes and look."

Sara's eyes flickered open, immediately filling with tears as the tip of her middle finger curled slightly upward. She glanced up. "I'm doing it?"

The older woman's face lit up. "Yes, you are," she said proudly. "You are."

"Not you?"

Marcy shook her head softly. "Not this time."

Her tears coming faster now, Sara looked down to her hand and nodded. She pinched her lips together, closing her eyes, completely overwhelmed at the feeling of relief and intense delight that filled her.

She felt Marcy lower her arm, folding her hand back onto her chest. The mattress dipped as Marcy sat on the edge of the bed to give Sara a warm hug. "You did it, girl," she soothed comfortingly in her ear. "_You_ did it. And you'll see, tomorrow you'll do it again. Then you'll do it for a little longer, until you can once again do it as a matter of course."

Unable to stop the unrelenting flow of her tears Sara could only nod her head into Marcy's shoulder. If only Grissom could be there to witness this for himself and share in her joy. It couldn't come at a better time for Sara after the traumatic events of the previous night. She clenched her eyes shut tighter as the horror of her nightmare once again filled her mind, but try as she might she couldn't make it go away.

She never heard the quiet knock on the door, the tell-tale noise of the key card unlocking it, or the quick, hurried way in which he reached the side of the bed. All she heard was the concern and alarm in his voice as he said, "Sara, love, is everything all right?"

Marcy gently pulled back from her embrace. "Absolutely," she said brightly, unaware that the tears Sara was crying now were tears of sorrow. She backed away and Sara could only bow her head as she desperately tried to conceal her distress from Grissom. "Sara had a major breakthrough just now. Didn't you, Sara?"

"Sara?" Grissom prompted expectantly when she didn't reply. Stepping past Marcy he moved closer and dipping his head reached his hand to her cheek.

Sara glanced up, meeting Grissom's worried expression, her lips instinctively forming into a small smile. "I'm okay," she said, holding his gaze, and now that he was there she really was.

A look of immediate relief washed across his face and he stroked his hand to her cheek. He smiled then, a soft loving smile that melted the dark recollections of her nightmare away and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry I'm so late," he said quietly.

"I did it," she said in a disbelieving whisper when he pulled back, tears filling her eyes once again. "I did it!"

Grissom's smile broadened uncertainly and he flicked an enquiring gaze onto the therapist. "Did what, honey?"

"Marcy, can we show him?" Sara said excitedly. She made herself pause. "Gilbert's a man of science; he needs to see it to believe it."

Grissom frowned, Sara's words visibly taking a moment to break through his understanding.

"Sure," Marcy said in a warm chuckle. Grissom hesitantly stepped back and she picked up Sara's hand, patiently repeating the process. "I offer no guarantees," she told them warmly.

Sara's eyes were on Grissom throughout, his intent on her hand as once again her middle finger twitched in response to the stimulus. Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked, and looked up at her. She could tell he had questions he wanted to ask, but he voiced none. He simply watched her, his face lit up with love and wonderment and pride, but incredulity too as two tears fell down the side of his face. Sara couldn't keep the grin off her face.

"She's a remarkable woman," Marcy told him.

"That she is," he replied, his eyes kissing Sara's lovingly.

"She wouldn't stop until she got a result." A wide pleasurable smile on her face, Marcy lowered Sara's hand back onto the bed and moved away to gather her equipment, leaving a moment later with a cheery "I'll see you tomorrow," that neither acknowledged.

His lips pinched and he lifted a shoulder. "I just can't believe it," he said. "I never expected anything to happen so soon." Sara's grin widened pleasurably. "I'm just so proud of you, Sara, so very proud." His hand moved to her cheek and leaning across he kissed her softly on the lips.

"I've been regaining a little sensation in my right side for a few days now," she said when he pulled back.

Grissom paused, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly as he made sense of her words. "Why didn't you say?" he asked with surprise.

She shrugged, her smile fading slightly. "I didn't want to get your hopes up, in case."

"Oh, Sara," he said, his thumb brushing across her cheek, "You know what the doctors in Reno said. It's only a matter of time before that happens."

Sara gave a nod and sighed. "It's just so little, you know? It's not enough. There are so many things I want to do, right now. I want to be able to lift my hand to your face and dry your tears. I want to be able to touch you, hold you, feel you, and I can't."

Grissom flashed an awkward smile and she knew he hadn't understood what she'd just said to him. There was a moment when they just stared smiling at each other, and then he picked up her hand, turning round to pull the chair nearer the bed and sit on it. His eyes on her hand he opened his mouth, visibly hesitating with his next words when she said, "Can you read to me?"

Grissom gave his head a shake, refocusing on her. "Read to you? Sure." He smiled then, briefly, before turning away, reaching for the book on the sliding table nearby, but Sara had managed to catch a glimpse of the sadness in his smile and eyes. He knew about the previous night's events already and was debating how best to broach the subject.

Picking up where he'd left off the previous day he quietly began reading to her. Sara closed her eyes, letting the soft timbre of his voice soothe her into peace of mind and tranquillity. She could tell his mind wasn't on the text though, and after a moment his words faltered and he stopped reading altogether.

"Sara," he said cautiously after a moment in silence. Her eyes shut she hummed her reply, bracing herself for what he was about to ask her and the Pandora's Box he was inadvertently about to open. "There's…something I want to speak with you about. Dr Williamson said that…that you had a bad night?"

Sara sighed, her eyes reopening as she turned her head toward him. He'd slipped his glasses off and was wearily rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Slowly, he put his glasses and the book down on the table, and made eye contact. Leaning forward on his chair he reached out his hand to her face, soft, gentle and reassuring, and pushed a little hair away from her eyes. He looked troubled.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked quietly.

Sara gave a slow shake of her head, her eyes misting over despite herself. She averted them to her lap. What if her nightmare wasn't a recollection at all but simply a cruel trick her mind had played on her? And if it _was_ a recollection, what if she'd remembered wrong? What if in telling him she revealed her amnesia? How would he react? What would he do?

"He said you got distraught," Grissom went on softly, "That they had to sedate you to calm you down."

Sara's eyes closed, tears falling at the memory. She had hated being so helpless, so powerless then, over her emotion, her reaction to the nightmare, but also over what the nurses had been forced to do to her.

"Sara, honey, look at me," he said pleadingly. "Please look at me."

Her eyes reopened. He was standing directly above her now, and she stared at his big bright eyes, eyes so blue, so pure, so familiar, loved and loving, and so sad and full of concern.

"Sweetheart, talk to me, please," he whispered. "Did you remember something about when…when you got hurt?" The last word caught in his throat and he swallowed. "Is that it?"

Her gaze dropped.

"You can tell me, you know? However hard you think it'll be for me to hear it." He paused. "It's always helped you in the past – hasn't it? To talk about your dreams, to tell me about them?"

Her eyes lifted to his face, beseeching.

"Please, Sara, let me help you," he continued in a whisper. "Let me be there for you. I want to help you. I_need_ to help you."

Something in the way he said _need_ hit a chord. She realised then that she needed him as much as he needed her. She smiled at him, and nodded. She would tell him. "I need you to help me," she said in a hoarse, choked voice. Soft fingers wiped under her eyes, over her cheeks, drying her tears.

"Did you remember what happened?" he asked again, his lips pinching in anguish.

"No," she said. Of that she was certain. "I had a nightmare." And once she started opening up the words came thick and fast, uncensored. "I'm not sure when it happened or where exactly. I can't put it into context, and yet the recollections are so vivid, the voices so loud in my head." She closed her eyes and more tears fell. Her breathing was fast, ragged and raspy. "I thought this was it, that I was going to die. I was petrified, Gilbert, petrified of losing you. I was in a hospital. You were there too."

"Not so fast, Sara," he said. "You're speaking too fast. I don't understand."

Suddenly overwhelmed at the powerful and violent images filling her mind Sara paused and made herself take a calming breath, and then another. Her chest was hurting with the effort it took to suck air in and breathe it out, and she wasn't sure that physically she _would_ be able to tell him. Out of the blue she felt the head of the bed come down and a strong hand catch the back of her shoulders, keeping her upright until the bed was flat before gently lowering her down.

"Better?" he asked when she opened her eyes, "Or do you want me to call someone?"

"No, don't call anyone," she said in a small voice, dreading having to be sedated again. "I'm better."

He nodded, staring at her a moment longer as if making sure she was telling the truth. When her breathing stabilised he sat with his back to her on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes. Turning, he smiled and just as he had done the previous day climbed onto the bed and lay down next to her, shuffling onto his side so he faced her. With the fingers of his broken arm he pushed strands of damp hair out of her eyes, smiling as he edged himself a little closer still.

"One of these days you're going to fall off," she said, the corner of her mouth turning up into a small smile.

"Only if you push me," he retorted mildly.

Just as he had done the previous day he draped his arm over her chest, holding her tightly to him. She watched as his eyes closed and he took a deep breath, his forehead coming to rest against hers. And just as he had done the previous day he took her back to another time, another place where they had lain so; a safe place, a familiar place, a happy place.

She closed her eyes and she was home again, in his arms, safe. It felt like one of the many times she recalled waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, except this time she wasn't alone. The sensations this time came from her life in a future she didn't yet remember. But she would. She knew she would.

Grissom didn't speak. He didn't ask. She could feel every one of his steady breaths on her face as he simply waited for her to open up to him. He knew she would, and she did.

"I was in a hospital," she began hesitantly, making herself speak slowly so he would understand. "You were there too, behind the partition glass."

She felt more than heard his sharp intake of breath. "Stop," he said in a choked whisper, and she knew that he already knew about her nightmare, that it was a recurrent one, a recollection. "You don't need to tell me anymore. I already know." His hand moved to her cheek, his lips a breath away as he said soothingly, "Adam's dead, Sara. He can't hurt you anymore."

"He's dead?" she said in a gasp.

"Yes, he is. He died awaiting trial in jail."

"And that nurse, what about that nurse?" She clenched her eyes shut, willing the confusion to clear and the memory to return to her, "I can't seem to remember her name. What she said…we didn't do that to him, did we?"

There was a delay of a few seconds before Grissom replied. "No, Sara," he said categorically, and yet he didn't manage to cover the quaver in his voice. "We didn't do that to him. He did it to himself. None of it was our fault, Sara. We were just…doing our jobs." He stopped talking and sucked in a breath through his nose and she could tell he was crying.

She paused, taking a moment to let his words sink in. "I was so scared," she said after a moment but she wasn't talking about Adam Trent's attack any more. She was referring to what it had felt like waking up in the middle of the night, alone in a strange place, screaming as she'd felt the blood trickling down her throat from where Adam had held the pottery shard to her skin. "I called. I called for you. I kept calling for you."

"And I couldn't get to you," he said in a fraught voice.

"You did," she said. "You did then. And you're here now."

"Always." He shifted on the bed, his lips moving to her neck, finding and delicately kissing the spot where Adam had cut the skin. Then they moved upward, seeking hers gently, tentatively. They tasted of salt, of love and home. He pulled back, propping himself on his elbow as he watched her. His hand moved to her face, softly brushing tears on one side first and then on the other. He smiled.

"I'm okay," she replied to his silent question. "I am now."

His eyes filled again. "I wish I could have been there for you, with you last night. I wish I could have held you then, like we are doing now. I wish I could have made it all go away."

"You will again – when I'm better, when I'm out of here."

"It won't be soon enough."

She smiled and said quietly, "Death can never do us part."

His face lit up with a loving smile as he repeated solemnly, "Death can never do us part." His eyes widened suddenly with a mixture of delight and incredulity. "You remember?" he asked in a gasp. "But how?"

Sara stared at him uncertainly. "It's like a dream," she said, "Words floating in my head. And then my mother told me."

He nodded and opened his mouth, about to say more when he visibly changed his mind and dropped his gaze, his smile faltering.

Sara took a breath. "Gilbert, I-"

The sound of a quiet knock on the door and a key card being inserted into the lock had Grissom off the bed and straightening his clothes in an instant. He ran a quick left hand over his face and through his hair.

Sara let out a giggle. "You're worried my mother is going to find us in a compromising position again?"

Grissom's mouth pursed to the side. "Your mother is the least of my worries. You're going to be okay?" he asked. "Or do you want me to send them away?"

"No. Just stay with me. I'll be fine. I think I need to do this, now."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thank you for your patience with the slow way in which this story is unfolding, and as always for the wonderful reviews and support you provide.

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><p>Fully expecting Grissom and Sara to be having their <em>afternoon nap<em> – his lips twitched with a smile as he recalled Laura's account of how she'd found them when she'd visited the previous day – Brass quietly pushed the door open, his head popping round hesitantly, a wide grin breaking across his face on seeing the pair wide awake and on high alert.

"Not busy making out, were you?" he quipped mildly, his smile widening playfully as he caught Sara's eye.

"Jim!" Grissom exclaimed with evident surprise.

Her face lit up with joy Sara let out a soft giggle, a shy and slightly embarrassed giggle that melted his heart. Her eyes flickered to Grissom, her laughter petering out at his seriousness.

"Not who you were expecting, huh?" Brass said, quietly closing the door after him and turning toward the pair. He took a step in, stopping hesitantly as he noticed Grissom's sheepish expression and reddened eyes. His smile faded. "I'm not coming at a bad time, am I?" he asked, his eyes flicking from Grissom to Sara enquiringly.

Smiling, Sara shook her head. "No," she said, once again glancing at Grissom from the corner of her eye. She then spoke to Grissom, quickly, too quickly for him to make out what she'd said, but Grissom seemed to. Nodding his head he raised the head of the bed half-way up and a soft loving smile to his lips, gently settled Sara into a sitting position.

The man's complete love and devotion, in his looks and in his actions toward Sara, was so obvious, so unreserved that yet again Brass wondered how he'd never caught a glimpse of it before. Oh, he'd known all about Sara's feelings for his friend but he'd never have thought he'd see the day when these feelings would be reciprocated to such degree. It was a shame, he thought sadly, and a waste, that it had taken such a terrible ordeal for them to be allowed to openly love one another the way they could now.

Swallowing his pain Brass formed his lips into a bright smile and strode to the opposite side of the bed from Grissom. "Sara," he said, leaning down and awkwardly bussing her on the cheek, "Welcome back to Vegas, sweetie." Pulling back he nodded his head at Grissom, "He's looking after you right, is he?"

Sara's responding giggle warmed his heart and he winked at her. Turning a tender grin toward Grissom she nodded. "Ees."

"Too bad," Brass said, feigning dejection in his tone as he watched fondly the silent interaction between his friends. "I'm sorry I couldn't come yesterday," he added when Sara refocused on him, "but I got busy putting crooks behind bars."

Grissom's smile dropped and he gave Brass a brisk shake of his head. Small talk about work was out of bounds then, Brass thought with a sigh. Well, that didn't leave much to talk about. And although he could understand his friend's motivations for wanting to protect Sara from the evil of the outside world he couldn't say he approved.

"So, how are you?" he went on brightly, opting for a change of tack. Grissom shook his head again, sighing, visibly disliking that topic of conversation too.

"Mgood," Sara replied, unaware of Grissom, her eyes shining delightfully, "Realgood."

"That's good to hear," he said, his face softening with pleasure at the news.

"Tsgoodtseeyou."

Brass picked up her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "It's good to see you too, Sara." He watched her a moment longer, the fond smile never leaving his lips despite his heartbreak at seeing her like that, a shadow of her former self. The CSI doll sitting on the table near Grissom caught his eye and he couldn't help his ensuing shake of the head. "I heard about that," he said in a chuckle.

Sara followed his eyes, proudly announcing, "Sme."

He laughed, but feeling Grissom's murderous gaze on him dropped the subject. Idly, he wondered whether Grissom was about to warn him off as he had Sanders the previous morning. "I hear your mother's in town. Has she been to see you already?" he then asked, for something to say, already knowing that she had. When they had spoken on the phone Laura had been cheerful about the fact that Sara had finally opened up to her a little. She hadn't gone into any detail but was hopeful that in time she could convince her daughter of her genuineness and trustworthiness. Brass sincerely hoped that she could, for both women's sake, and if he could help them achieve that then he would.

"Lil," Sara replied, her smile fading imperceptibly as she threw Grissom a wary glance.

"That's good," Brass said warmly.

"We thought you were her actually," Grissom said, finally relaxing as he took up a seat on the chair.

Brass nodded. "Maybe I'll catch up with her later, huh?" he told Sara. "Say hello."

"Youner," she paused, "geton?" she asked with interest.

Brass's brow rose, his eyes flicking to Grissom uncertainly as he replayed her question in his mind. "Yeah, we do – now," he finally replied, preferring to settle for the truth, unsure how much Sara remembered of what had happened in Reno.

Sara nodded, lapsing into silence as she pondered his words.

Brass gave his chin a rub. "Listen, kid," he said affectionately, "I brought you something. I didn't know what to get you, but, well…" He hauled the sports bag he'd brought onto the edge of the bed and unzipped it. "Since this is going to be your home for the foreseeable future I thought…well, I went by your house and well I thought maybe you'd want these." He pulled out a handful of DVD's and books he'd carefully picked from the shelves, spreading them out on the bed. "It's not much, but it'll help pass the time."

Sara's gaze had dropped to the gifts, her smile tentative as she stared intently at each item in turn. Her lack of reaction to what he'd hoped would be welcomed gifts unnerved him, and he sighed as he wondered whether maybe he should have run his idea past Grissom first. "I have something else for her," he told Grissom uncertainly, pulling out of the bag a grape-coloured chenille comforter he had found folded over the back of the couch, "You think this was a bad idea?"

Grissom pushed up to his feet. "Sara?" he called softly, dipping his head, trying to catch her eye. He stroked the back of his hand to her cheek. "Honey, you okay? Is this too much? You want to rest?"

Sara startled, and Grissom repeated his query. She gave her head a shake, the right side of her mouth curling up into a smile as she refocused on them. It was like she was coming back from a distant dream. His smile broadening hesitantly Brass held out the comforter before opening it out and gently covering her with it. She let out a small gasp, her eyes taking on that distant turn again as she stared unseeingly straight in front of her.

"I thought that since you're going to be spending a lot of time here too," he explained, addressing Grissom, "the two of you could snuggle up together and watch a movie, you know? Or read a book, like you would at home?" He cleared the lump from his throat, the smile he flashed Grissom small and despondent.

"Thank you, Jim," Grissom said, filling the silence, visibly moved by the captain's thoughtfulness. His hand moved to Sara's arm, stroking and squeezing warmly.

Brass acknowledged Grissom's thanks with a nod, his eyes still intent on Sara. She'd seem in good spirits at first but the change in her now was alarming. Something wasn't quite right, he could tell. She was unresponsive, caught up in a trance, totally unaware now of what was going on around her. He shared a worried look with Grissom.

Sara's eyes inexplicably filled with tears, and she mumbled something under her breath. Her tone showed frustration, akin to anger.

Grissom immediately leaned down at her level. "Sara?" he called softly, looking fearful and bewildered.

"Should I call for someone?" Brass asked with growing concern, at a loss as to how to explain Sara's sudden behaviour.

"I don't know," Grissom replied anxiously, and then to Sara, "Sara, honey, you okay?" He gave her shoulders a shake.

Her eyes snapped up to him, suddenly focussed and clear. She smiled. "Ank," she said in a small, child-like voice. "Missim. Wannaseeim."

Grissom's face dropped. "She wants to see Hank," he relayed warily, a look of utter despair etched on his face as he straightened up and away from her.

"I'm sure we can arrange for a visit soon," Brass said soothingly when Grissom lapsed into an abrupt silence.

Sara slowly turned her head toward Brass. "Opso," she said, her expression sad and longing. She turned hopeful eyes toward Grissom, and forcing a smile he slowly nodded his head at her.

"Soon," he said.

Brass couldn't help noticing Grissom's growing discomfort. He looked flustered, dejected and troubled, like he had too much on his mind and Brass could well imagine that he did. He needed to get him out of the room, and fast. Grissom's eyes suddenly veered to the door, and Brass turned.

Laura stood there, key card in hand, hesitant to come in. She smiled. "Is this a bad time?"

Smiling, Brass shook his head, silently thanking her for her perfect timing. "Laura," he greeted brightly, "Nice to see you again."

Turning back toward the bed he said with fake-cheerfulness, "Gil, how about we leave these two ladies to catch up, huh? I could do with a coffee."

Refocusing his gaze, Grissom was quick to give him a nod in acquiescence. He looked around on the floor, locating his shoes which sitting down he promptly put on. "I won't be long," he told Sara when he finished.

Sara nodded. She was watching him guardedly, her eyes downcast, knowing that she'd somehow upset him. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak Grissom had turned his back on her, moving toward the door.

Brass leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll come see you again soon," he told her affectionately.

She gave him a wan smile, nodding her head as she said, "Lookaftim," she made herself pause, "for me."

With a nod and a parting smile at both women Brass joined his friend in the corridor. Grissom stopped pacing long enough to shoot him a desperate look and as soon as the door shut he opened his mouth, his shoulders lifting in a sad helpless manner.

"Something's not right with her, Jim," he said glumly. He rubbed the back of his left hand under his nose, sniffing. "Something bad, I can feel it." His lips pinched tightly together as he visibly fought to keep a lid on his emotion and he turned away.

Heaving a heavy sigh Brass closed the gap between them. His hand lifted uncertainly to his friend's shoulder and he gave it a warm clasp. He didn't know what to make of Grissom's worries about Sara, but he knew it delved much deeper than just the obvious. He kept his hand on Grissom's shoulder for a moment in what he hoped was a comforting gesture before uncertainly lowering it to his side.

Looking back over his shoulder Grissom met Brass's gaze, his head shaking miserably as he said, "I don't know if I can do this." A look of shame flashed across his eyes, and he bowed his head, his shoulders shaking as he disintegrated into quiet sobs.

Brass looked up and down the corridor and finding it empty placed both hands on his friend's shoulders from behind, squeezing and patting warmly until Grissom had let it all out. What else could he do that would not embarrass either of them? He didn't ask questions, not then, there was plenty of time for that later. When he felt his friend calm he simply said, "I know you didn't mean your last sentence, Gil. I've seen how you are with her. If anybody can do this, it is you. Just remember you're not on your own."

Roughly wiping the back of his left hand over his eyes Grissom gave an absent nod and began walking away toward the reception area. "There's a small cafeteria type place across the road," he said hoarsely. "You mind if we go there? I need some air."

"Sure," Brass said quietly.

At the end of the corridor Grissom paused and had a last look toward Sara's door, visibly reluctant to leave.

"Laura's with her," Brass said, "she'll be fine for a little while."

Grissom nodded, and silently they made their way across the road, settling in a booth by the window. Brass kept quiet, opting instead to let Grissom work through his fears and worries at his own pace, and open up when he was ready.

"It's hard to know what's going on in her head," Grissom said after a while staring at passing cars through the window. He turned, meeting his friend's gaze and giving him a small smile.

Brass pursed his face in thought. "What, because of her speech?" he asked. "I thought you were coping with that very well actually."

"It's more than just her speech."

The waitress came to take their orders, cutting short Grissom's explanation, and after nodding at her offer of coffee both men lapsed into silence. Grissom's gaze was distant, the fingers of his left hand flexing and unflexing on the table nervously.

Brass tore open a couple of packets of powdered sugar which he swiftly emptied into his cup. "Talk to me, Gil," he said, his eyes on his cup as he stirred, before glancing up. "What's on your mind?"

Grissom hummed, his shoulder lifting uncertainly. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "I'm worried about her."

"I gathered that," Brass said warmly. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Grissom gave a slow, defeated nod. "There's a lot of things." His face screwed with anguish as he stared at his cup. "She's remembering the attack," he blurted out miserably.

Brass's brow rose. "She told you?"

Grissom brought his gaze up, and Brass sighed at the wretchedness he saw there. "She had a nightmare last night," he said. "One that would make your blood curdle."

"The attack?" Brass asked with puzzlement. Sara had seemed a little withdrawn maybe, but not as distraught as he'd imagined she'd be if she'd remembered the details of what the Wallis brothers had done to her.

"Not exactly," Grissom said, "but close enough."

"How do you mean?" Brass picked up his cup and brought it to his lips, his eyes steadfast on his friend. Wincing both at the scolding heat and bitterness of the beverage he quickly put the cup down.

"It's a nightmare she's had before," Grissom said after a moment in thought. He erupted into a disbelieving laugh, his eyes wet with tears. "She wakes up screaming when she feels Adam Trent's fingers on her skin," he said shakily, his fingers balling into a fist on the table. "Last night they couldn't calm her down; they had to sedate her, Jim."

Brass's sigh was long and despondent. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Even in death they can't leave us alone."

Brass swallowed, hoping, praying that the one remaining Wallis had by now left the state, as _strongly_ advised. "And what, you're thinking her subconscious is working overtime, trying to catch up with her? That it's trying to fill in the blanks? Starting with what she already knows?"

"You a psychiatrist now?" Grissom asked, his brow arching in disbelief. He shook his head and sighed. "How can it? Sara doesn't know McKay was behind the attack."

Brass's face pursed in thought. "Maybe Wallis told her." He paused, his shoulder rising sadly at the look of horror that filled Grissom's features. And yet despite his own pain at that thought he made himself continue. "The truth of the matter is that we don't know what happened between Sara being grabbed and her…getting hurt. We only know of the attack what we saw on CCTV and what we inferred from the evidence we gathered. Sara has the rest locked away somewhere deep inside her."

Grissom's eyes clenched shut. His left hand lifted to them, his head shaking at Brass's words.

Brass chose his next words carefully. "I think you need to tell her." Grissom's head shot up, his eyes narrowed, pained, hard, disapproving. "Sara's clever, Gil," Brass went on quietly, "she'll figure it out, or she'll remember in another chilling nightmare, whichever comes first and she won't thank you for not telling her. In fact I'm sure it'll be worse for her to remember it that way. Especially if you're not around when it happens."

"You know what?" Grissom said tersely, getting to his feet. "When I need your psychiatric expertise I'll call you."

Brass opened out his hand in a helpless gesture. "Gil, please sit down," he said in an appeasing tone. "Sit down and finish your coffee."

Grissom wavered on his feet but did as he was asked.

"You asked me, and I spoke my mind, as a friend. Now you do what you want with it. But I know that in the end you'll do what's best for Sara." He paused and took another sip of his coffee, ready for a change of topic. "Have you given more thought about bringing Hank to visit?" he asked. "I mean, Sara obviously misses him, and I'm sure it would be lifting for her to see him and know he's all right. Bring a little light to her day."

Grissom brought his left hand up to rub his face and let out a long sigh. "I know. I will, when she's stronger emotionally. At the moment she's up and down, unpredictable. You saw it yourself just then. I'm worried that seeing him will take her over the edge."

"Over what edge?" he asked softly, an awkward smile to his lips. "Gil, over the past few months you and Sara have been making a life together. Hank is part of that life, part of your little unit, your family, and it's only natural that she wants to get that back."

Grissom looked up, visibly surprised. "I've never thought of it that way before," he said.

Brass shrugged. "I think you're underestimating her, Gil. I get that you want to protect her but she's a lot tougher, a lot more resilient than you give her credit for."

"I know that."

"Sara's learning to adapt to her new…circumstance, to her new way of being-"

"What choice does she have?"

Brass lifted his hand, indicating that he hadn't finished. "She's trying to move forward, Gil, she's wanting to carry on with her life. She's not moping, crying over the past and what she's lost."

"Unlike me, huh?"

Brass dismissed Grissom's comment with a wave of his hand. "You got to stop making all the decisions for her. She wants to see Hank, let her."

"I'll think about it," he said, with a glance at his watch. "I need to get back."

Brass nodded, watching as his friend pushed to his feet, leaving his coffee untouched. "You're going to be okay?" he asked.

Grissom gave a stiff nod, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet.

"I got this," Brass said quickly, dismissing Grissom's silent offer to pay, earning himself another nod.

Grissom made to leave but seemed to think better of it and turned back. "Thank you," he said, meeting Brass's gaze hesitantly.

Brass's returning smile was warm and compassionate. "Don't mention it." He looked down uncomfortably before forcing his gaze back up as he said, "You know how much I care for Sara, myself. We can only take good care of her, make her life a little easier, and make her happy."

Brass's words gave Grissom pause. "You're right," he said, slowly nodding his head. He moved out of the booth, suddenly in a hurry to get going. "I ought to get back to her; she'll be wondering where I've got to."

Brass nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "Don't worry; I told her I'd look after you."


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as the door shut on Brass Laura turned an anxious expression toward her daughter. Sara's face was scrunched up with sorrow, her bottom lip wobbling like a child's. Her chest began to shake with small sobs, then bigger ones, and she turned away. What on earth had just happened? Laura wondered. Grissom had looked so distraught, so miserable, leaving – no, fleeing – without even acknowledging her presence. Brass's gaze had been soft and apologising, and she knew Grissom would be taken good care of, but something was very wrong.

Laura quickly strode to her daughter's bedside. "Oh, Sara." Her hand raised to her face, gently coaxing it up toward her. "Sweetie, what's the matter?"

Sara lifted sad watery eyes to her mother. "Mess-dup," she said between sobs.

"You messed up?" Laura repeated, seeking confirmation. Her eyes suddenly widened with shock and she gasped. "You told him? You told him about…your amnesia?"

Sara let out a heart-breaking, "No."

Laura's face softened compassionately. "Then what happened, huh?" she asked, gently picking up Sara's hand. She took a breath and let it out slowly, her heart breaking at her daughter's desolation. "Sweetheart, what happened?" Making eye contact she wiped her free hand under Sara's eyes in a vain attempt to dry her tears but she couldn't even begin to curb their relentless flow.

Sara didn't reply at first and Laura's hand stayed on her daughter's cheek, gently stroking as she made soothing, shushing sounds. She wanted nothing more but to follow her instincts, wrap her arms around her and hold her to her chest as she had done countless times when Sara had been a little girl. But afraid to overstep the mark and break the fragile bond they were beginning to forge she didn't, instead reluctantly making herself keep a little distance.

"Sara, you can tell me," she prompted when Sara was a little calmer. She gave her a small comforting smile. "What happened that got him so distressed, huh?"

Sara's reply came in a low raspy voice, quick words all merging into one, and Laura's face fell with anguish. "I don't understand," she murmured despondently. "I'm sorry."

"Eenosomfingsrong," Sara lamented again.

Laura's gaze narrowed uncertainly as she replayed her daughter's words in her head, and when she still couldn't make sense of them she smiled uncomfortably. "I'm sorry Sara," she repeated softly, her hand brushing under her daughter's right eye and cheek tenderly, "but I didn't catch that either."

Sara closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, and then another one, and wondering whether she'd ruined her chances of reconciliation with her daughter Laura withdrew her hand.

"Gil-bret," Sara said after a moment, pausing as her eyes reopened. They were sad and defeated, but dry. "Ee-knows."

Fear flashed across Laura's eyes. "I didn't tell him," she defended quickly. She gave Sara's hand a strong squeeze. "I swear to you, Sara. I didn't tell him. I promised I wouldn't and I didn't."

Sara's head shook, refuting her mother's words. "Eesworktout."

Laura's gaze narrowed uncertainly, and she lifted a sad helpless shoulder.

Sara's eyes drifted toward the door. "Eesgone. Lostim."

"Lost him?" Laura repeated anxiously. "Lost who? I don't understand."

"Gil-bret."

"No, Sara," Laura said, a reassuring smile forming on her lips as understanding finally dawned. "You haven't lost him. He's just gone for a coffee with Captain Brass. He was upset, that's true. But he will come back, when he is calmer. Captain Brass is with him." She held her daughter's gaze, smiling as she tried to convey the truthfulness of her words.

Sara watched her mother for a moment before eventually nodding her head. "Opso."

Laura's smile broadened fondly. "I promise you; he will be back."

Sara's nod this time was less doubtful.

"Do you know what upset him?" Laura went on quietly.

Sara's eyes dropped to the comforter, DVD's and books on the bed, and she shook her head sadly. "Donmember," she said in a sigh of frustration.

Laura's frown was puzzled and she wished she was more in tune with her daughter. "You don't remember what upset him?"

"No," Sara said, looking up. Her eyes shone with a film of tears. "Donmember – myfings."

She followed her daughter's gaze to the gifts, noticing that they weren't new and that Brass had most probably brought along some of Sara's belongings. One book, a visibly well-thumbed textbook with a bright green caterpillar on the front cover, stood out, catching her eye. She sighed. "You think he noticed you didn't recognise your things," she mused with sudden understanding. "And you think he's worked it out. Or that he's about to." She looked up abruptly, meeting Sara's fearful gaze, smiling sadly as Sara gave her a forceful nod in agreement.

"Then you need to tell him, Sara," she said, staring at her daughter intently as she spoke the words. "Be upfront with him. It's not fair on him not to know, or for him to find out like this, to work it out for himself." She paused, unable to stop the small twitch of a smile pulling at her lips as a defiant look about her face Sara turned away. Sara had never liked to be told what to do as a child and Laura was pleased to see that despite what had happened she was still as doggedly stubborn. "And he will, won't he?" she added gently, "Work it out for himself?"

"Memberfirst," Sara mumbled under her breath.

This time she didn't need to understand the words to know what her daughter had said. "Do you love him?" she asked quietly.

As she'd expected her change of tack took Sara by surprise. Her head snapped round, dark eyes narrowed in incredulity. She didn't reply.

Laura lifted her brow. "Well, do you love him?" she asked again, her tone soft but probing.

Sara gave a confident nod. "Yes."

"How do you know? When you don't remember?"

Sara swallowed. "Jusdo."

Laura's face broke into a smile. "And he loves you. You know that, don't you?"

Sara gave a slow nod.

"Then you've got to trust him."

Sara looked all around her and the room. "Do."

"Not just with your care, Sara, and your wellbeing, but with your heart." She caught and held her daughter's gaze. "Do you trust him with your heart?"

Sara paused, her gaze drifting to a point in the middle distance. Her face took on a haunted look.

"Well, do you?" Laura asked again.

Sara refocused sad eyes onto her mother. She watched her long time before admitting, "Dunno."

"Why not?" Laura challenged levelly. "When you're so sure you love him."

Sara shook her head. Tears filled her eyes and she looked away.

Laura let out a long despondent breath. Her hand came up and she brushed Sara's hair out of the way, idly thinking that her daughter was in need of a haircut. "I do," she said quietly. "I know why."

Sara looked up, questions in her eyes.

"I know why you can't bring yourself to trust him." Her lips formed into a small smile. "And it's my fault. What I did to your father had repercussions on who you are, on who you became, but also on your ability to trust. Mr Grissom says it made you stronger."

"Eenosboutdad?" Sara gasped, her face dropping miserably.

Laura nodded her head slowly. "Yes, he does," she replied, and reading more question in her daughter's eyes added in a shrug, "When I met him he already knew. You must have told him. You must have trusted him enough to tell him about your darkest secret."

Laura's words seemed to give Sara pause.

"The way I see it, for all it's worth," she went on, "the Sara you know now, the Sara you remember has never been able to put her trust and faith in anyone before, let alone in a man. Am I right?"

Slowly bringing her gaze up to her mother Sara nodded.

"But the Sara he knows and loves has. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Laura waited for Sara's cautious nod to make her point. "That Sara has put her trust and faith in _him_, and he has done the same. What's happened to you isn't your fault. He knows that, he will understand."

"Mnot – eesara – anymore," Sara said heartbreakingly, making herself pause between each word.

Laura's eyes filled. She took her daughter's face with both hands, staring straight into her eyes as she said, "Oh, darling you are. Believe me, you still are his Sara."

"Mscared."

Laura smiled, nodding, "I know." Her gaze lowered in hesitation as she thought carefully about what she was about to confide. She blinked a few times, forcing a bright, yet shaky smile as she refocused on her daughter. Sara was watching her intently as though knowing that what she was about to hear would make all the difference.

Laura took a final breath, going for broke. "Sara, there's one thing I think you should know, something that Mr Grissom won't ever be able to tell you himself, and if he knew-" her voice broke and she closed her eyes, sucking in a breath, "if he knew I'd told you he would be very upset."

Sara nodded that she understood and Laura pulled back from her, her eyes averting hesitantly. When she spoke her voice was barely above a fraught whisper.

"After your…accident, we were told by the doctors that…that…that you weren't going to make it." Tears she'd been fighting to keep at bay fell and she glanced up at Sara, smiling through them, her lips pinching anxiously at the recollection. "And that if you didn't die you wouldn't wake." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Sara, we were told that your brain was dead, that either way, you were gone."

Sara's eyes were intent on her mother. They were dry, her expression curious but detached as she listened.

"Mr Grissom was devastated," Laura went on quietly, a little calmer now, "and he fought the doctors and their decisions. Told them they'd made a mistake, that they were wrong. So they did the tests again, and when they came back the same…" she stopped short, shrugging the rest of her words off. "What made it worse for him was the fact that he had no control over any of the decisions. Everything was out of his hands."

"Donderstand," Sara said in a whisper. "Why?"

Laura's eyes closed, and then reopened slowly. "You had a living will drawn, Sara." She paused, letting her words sink. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Sara dropped her gaze and after what felt like an eternity nodded her head.

"What you were asking him to do was too much, and he wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it."

Sara's eyes snapped up, fixing on her mother, suddenly knowing but not accusing. "Butyouwoudov."

Averting her eyes Laura slowly acquiesced with a nod. "Yes, I would have," she said at last, glancing up. She stared at her daughter for the longest of times and deciding that it was time for honesty made herself confess, "And I almost did. Out of love and respect for you." Her lips pursed in a tight smile. "But _he_ couldn't, out of love for you."

"Eesnt –ready."

Her smile softened and she shook her head in disbelief. She'd just admitted to almost killing her own daughter and it hadn't even registered with Sara. "That's right, sweetie, he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to let you go. And he thinks you changed your mind, that by waking up _you_ decided it wasn't time for you to go. That's why, Sara," she said with a growing smile, hoping that by opening up she'd made her point in a manner Sara would understand and not stubbornly reject, "you could never lose him. He's just too grateful that you're still here with us and at the second chance of a life with you you've granted him." She paused, gauging Sara's reaction, praying that she hadn't made a mistake in opening up like that. "He's a good man, Sara, kind, dedicated, and completely devoted to you. _You'_ve _got_ to tell him – before he finds out and gets his heart broken all over again."

Sara nodded, her eyes glancing toward the door, part-fearful part-hopeful. "Will," she said resolutely. She made eye contact with her mother and smiled. "Will."

Laura's face lit up at the look of gratitude she saw in her daughter's eyes. "Good," she said, her smile broadening pleasurably.

She cupped her hand to Sara's face and closing her eyes gently leaned down, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to her cheek. An immense feeling of wellbeing and relief flooded through her and she relished the moment as she realised she'd waited twenty-two long years to do just that. When she pulled back Sara's eyes were shut. Her breathing was slow and even, as though she had nodded off. Laura brushed her fingertips along the curve of her face, her smile turning wistful.

She was making herself comfortable on the chair when Sara called in a whisper, "Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?" she replied, her heart filling with love at the use of the long-forgotten term of endearment.

Sara's eyes slowly drifted open. "Avchilden?" she asked, her words low and slurred.

Laura's brow furrowed and she moved to the edge of the seat closer to the bed. "Children?" she repeated uncertainly.

"Gilbretanme. Avchilden?"

A look of understanding flashed across Laura's face. "Are you asking if you have children? Sara, is that what you're asking?"

Swallowing, Sara held her mother's gaze and nodded.

"Oh, sweetie, no, you don't," she replied with a smile, reaching and squeezing her daughter's hand affectionately.

Her eyes closing Sara smiled and nodded, mumbling something akin to "That's what I thought," but Laura couldn't be sure. "Music," she then said in a whisper, "Sleepbetterwivmusic."

Laura sprung to her feet, immediately reaching for the iPod on the table. Her eyes on her daughter she slowly unwound the cord, slipped the buds in her ears and switched it on, making sure the sound was turned low. Sara's face filled with contentment, a soft smile forming on her lips as the music filled her ears.

Laura spent a long moment watching her while thinking back to their conversation and hoping that she hadn't made a mistake by confiding what she had. Slowly, she cleared Brass's gifts off the bed before straightening the comforter over Sara's body. Resuming her bedside vigil, she picked up the largest of the books, the one with the caterpillar on the cover that had caught her eye earlier on. _The Science of Entomology_, she read, briefly musing over the meaning of the word before letting out a long sad sigh as she realised that there was a lot she didn't know about her daughter.

She opened the book, idly flicking through the pages full of text, pictures and diagrams of insects, surprised that Sara should be interested in them when she'd never been as a child, until she came to a stop at the title page. The short message neatly penned there immediately caught her attention. _Merry Christmas_, it read, _From Grissom_. Her head shot up in realisation. Had it been Sara's non-reaction to this particular book that could have been the cause of Grissom's distress earlier? Her eyes flicked to Sara. Should she wake her to tell her?

Totally engrossed in her thoughts Laura didn't notice Grissom had returned until he was standing by the bed. "Mr Grissom," she exclaimed with a start, bringing her hand to her heart. A smile broke across her features. "I didn't hear you come in."

Grissom didn't reply. He simply reached for the iPod lying on Sara's lap and smiling as he checked the display switched the device off before gently easing the buds out of her ears. Leaning down he kissed her softly on the forehead and closed his eyes, his lips lingering on her skin for a moment before reluctantly breaking away. Sara smiled, stirring as a small breath escaped but she didn't wake**.**

"I'm sorry I took so long but I went for a walk," he said quietly. His eyes were on Sara as he spoke, and Laura couldn't be sure whether the words were meant for her or her daughter.

"You don't have to explain. I'm happy to be here with Sara," she replied, adding with a smile when he turned toward her, "I've a lot of years to make up."

Grissom gave an absent nod, his eyes refocusing on Sara. "She's been okay?" he asked, the concern undisguised in his tone.

Laura sighed, her shoulder lifting as she stood up. "She's fine. She's worried she upset you before."

He smiled, nodding, his hand lifting to Sara's face but not quite making contact. His fingers uncurled, their tips brushing a little hair away from her eyes. "She looks so peaceful," he said in a whisper, "So beautiful. When I watch her sleeping like this I almost forget and it's like before." His hand lowered and he turned soft eyes toward Laura, enquiring, "Have you noticed anything…different about her?"

Laura swallowed a sense of foreboding. "Different?" she repeated uncertainly, her eyes drifting to Sara.

Grissom shrugged. "There's something's different about her, Laura," he said sadly, "And I'm not talking about her physical injuries. She's…" he covered his eyes with his left hand, rubbing at them roughly, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"Changed?" Laura prompted when she saw him falter.

Keeping his face hidden he slowly nodded his head.

"It's only to be expected, don't you think?"

"I don't know," he said in a small voice, looking up and meeting her gaze.

Laura let out a long sigh at his wretchedness. "You're asking the wrong person," she told him. "I don't know the Sara you know at all. I only know the frightened twelve-year-old, and now the frightened thirty-three-year-old," she added quietly.

"Still, you're her mother."

"Yes, I am," she said, almost sounding surprised, her lips pulling into a proud smile. Her smile suddenly turned pensive and she lapsed into silence, wondering whether she should help Sara by telling Grissom about the amnesia herself.

Sara stirred, cutting short Laura's musings. Her eyes drifted open, softly locking onto Grissom's. Shy, tentative smiles formed on their lips at the same time, and Laura silently moved away, gathering up her things and leaving the room as quietly as Grissom had entered it, now surplus to requirements.

She'd played her part, now it was Sara's turn.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Grissom uses the acronym TBI at some point in the chapter. It's doctors' talk for Traumatic Brain Injury.

Also, I'm issuing a _possible_ hanky warning – I know, it's been a while.

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><p>"I'm sorry," they mouthed to each other at the same time, their smiles wavering.<p>

Laura was right, Sara thought as she stared into Grissom's troubled eyes. She'd put her trust and faith in him before and she had to do it again. The Sara she remembered, the one she knew now, would never have confided something as private, painful and shameful as the details of her father's death lightly. That Sara had bared herself to him unconditionally, and by all accounts knowing hadn't changed his feelings for her. If anything, it might have strengthened them.

And yet there was still so much she didn't know, so much she didn't understand about the kind of person she was then, the woman he knew and loved, and so much she didn't know about him. How had she ended up in Vegas? Had he done the chasing? Had she? She couldn't imagine that she would have, and he hadn't seemed the type.

They had immediately gelled on first meeting; that was true. She'd felt, and knew he'd felt too, an instant connection, the joining of two minds meant to be together, a connection she still felt now despite her amnesia and insecurities. And he did too; it was plain to see, laid bare in his mournful eyes.

His hand reached across and he cupped her face, his thumb gently stroking over her cheek. His shaky smile widened, his shoulder lifting apologetically as he whispered, "I'm sorry I walked out earlier."

Sara leaned her face into his hand, closing her eyes at the feeling of wellbeing that enveloped her. "I'm sorry I upset you," she countered in a murmur. "I didn't mean to."

"I know." He withdrew his hand, the bed dipping as he perched on the edge and she reopened her eyes. He was watching her tenderly, a mixture of confusion, uncertainty and fear clouding his gaze. He opened his mouth, then shut it, shrugging, hesitating with what he wanted to say. "I just feel so overwhelmed all of the time…" he said after a while, "so raw," and she could tell from his expression, the helpless way he raised his shoulder that talking about his feelings wasn't something he was comfortable with. He seemed to give up trying to put his thoughts into words, resorting instead to letting the sadness in his eyes do the talking.

Sara realised then that they had to go back to the beginning, _their_ beginning, in order to move forward and start again. Her smile trembled, her eyes drifting to the medicine cabinet by the wall and to the picture of the two of them sitting there. Her expression became wistful and she took a breath. How could she tell him that their first meeting was the first and last recollection she had of him without breaking his heart? How could she tell him that the accident had erased the last eight years of her life from her mind?

His eyes followed hers, and he shifted off the bed, moving away to get the photograph. Sara watched as smiling he returned and settled himself on the bed next to her so they could both see the picture.

"I remember the day this was taken like it was yesterday," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over their faces on the photo. He looked over and smiled, and Sara could only stare back at him, losing herself in the immensity of his soft gaze and the memory of that day.

"You didn't call," she said in a whisper.

"Not at first, no," he acquiesced softly, holding her gaze levelly, a loving smile pulling at his lips, "but not for lack of wanting to. That girl I'd met at a conference, shared a coffee with and a heated debate had taken over my mind. You were so young, so full of spirit, so sure of your convictions. You wouldn't be told you were wrong."

"I wasn't."

His eyes refocused, the happy smile on his lips widening at the sous-entendre. "Do you remember?"

Sara gave him a slow nod, pain and sorrow suddenly tearing at her heart. "Like it was yesterday," she murmured, her voice shaking with emotion.

His smile faded. "Holly Gribbs' death changed the course of my life," he went on musingly, and Sara's eyes narrowed imperceptibly as the first piece of the puzzle began falling into place. "The course of our lives."

"You wouldn't have called me, asking me to come-" she gasped in realisation.

His face lit up wistfully. "And you wouldn't have stayed." His eyes filled unexpectedly but he didn't avert them. "You stayed for me then, and you've stayed for me ever since."

Gently, he lowered the photograph down on her lap and picked up her right hand with his left. His lips pinching, he brought it to his face, cradling it to his cheek. He blinked a few times, his gaze flicking upwards as he took a deep breath, and she knew he was struggling to find words to ask what he needed to know.

"Sara, honey, I know there's something you're not telling me," he began quietly, causing a tightening in Sara's chest. "I know something's not quite right." He paused and smiled, opened his mouth, then took a shaky breath and blew it out slowly. "You've got to tell me; not knowing is tearing me up inside." His voice was all choked-up now as he fought to keep a lid on his emotion.

She made herself hold his gaze, her eyes beseeching for his forgiveness. "Promise you won't judge me."

"Judge you?" he asked, watery eyes narrowing uncertainly. "Oh, Sara, how could I ever judge you, when all these years we've known each other you never judged _me_?"

Sara swallowed and nodded. He was still cradling her hand to his cheek and she concentrated all her senses and willpower into moving her fingers and stroking them to his face so she could wipe away his fear, his tears and pain, but frustratingly she couldn't even manage a small twitch. "I'm afraid I'm not your Sara anymore."

He watched her strangely for a long moment, and she could tell he had trouble making out what she'd said. Then he nodded that he understood and blew out a short breath, and then another, as though bracing himself for an imminent catastrophe. Dropping her hand he rubbed his eyes. "The doctors said that…that when someone suffers a TBI like yours, it most probably will change their…personality, it will change who they are. That it's to be expected and that-"

Sara's brisk shake of the head cut his words short.

"Isn't that what you're talking about?" he asked uncertainly.

"No."

He glanced down, his lips pinching anxiously. "What is it, then, huh?" he asked before pausing to swallow the tightness in his throat. "Are you saying that your feelings for me have changed, is that it? That-" His gaze snapped up and he stared at her, eyes full of pain and defeat. "Sara, are you breaking up with me?"

Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked. How could she have made such a mess of everything? How could he think she didn't love him anymore? What had she done – or not done, she realised sadly – to make him think that?

"No," she replied as ardently as she could, two tears coursing down the side of her face. "No, Gilbert, no," she pleaded again. "I love you." She smiled and putting as much passion as she could muster in her speech repeated, "I _love_ you. You're the only man I've ever loved, the only man I've ever trusted, the only person I've truly let into my heart."

It took a moment for her words to filter through his understanding but once they did, the look of sheer relief that flashed across his eyes was heart-warming. His hand came up to her face, and tilting his head to the side he leaned across, softly stroking his lips to the corner of her mouth. "And I love you," he said, pulling back, "You know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then, honey, what is it?"

She stared up at him, searching for strength and courage in his eyes. "I'm going to let you down," she said. "I've let you down already."

There was a pause when he watched her with puzzlement. He shook his head uncertainly. "Sara, you know I don't read minds, especially yours. Besides, we're past this stage of second-guessing one another. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think it is."

"It is." His face softened pleadingly and Sara closed her eyes at the overwhelming surge of love that flooded through her. Love for a man she was about to shatter with her confession. She'd put it off long enough. The soft brush of his lips over hers almost stopped her heart, triggering more tears. "I'm sorry," she said, her lips vibrating against his.

He pulled back slightly, his expression darkening with fear as he read her misery. "Sara?"

The way he'd said her name, a breathless whisper broke her heart. "I don't remember," she finally admitted.

He stared back at her, his puzzled frown deepening. "You don't remember?" He let out a small chuckle, but she could tell it was a poor cover for his growing agitation and sense of dread. "You're not talking about the accident, are you?" he pondered sadly, "I already know about that. What else don't you remember?"

Sara took a big breath and made herself hold his gaze while she said, "You. Me. Vegas. Our life together here." Her eyes flicked to the picture. "I don't remember any of it."

"Slow down," he said, his expression shifting. "Slow down." There was a beat while he processed her words. The colour seemed to drain from his face and he rose off the edge of the bed impatiently. "You don't remember?"

She gave him a very slow shake of the head in reply. Tears spilled, slowly coursing down the side of her face. "I've lost the last eight years of my life, of our life together."

"Your memory of our life together is gone?" he said in a heart-wrenching gasp.

Sara's nod was as despondent as the look in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

His hand lifted to his face and he rubbed wearily, before checking behind him as he fell into the chair. "Nothing at all?" he asked, looking up, his voice betraying his utter incredulity. "CSI?" He waved his hand toward the doll, the books and DVD's on the table. "Brass? Greg? Nothing?"

Sara's continuous shake of the head had him looking even more defeated. For the past two weeks, ever since she'd woken up, she'd tried, she'd done nothing but try to imagine herself in that life, imagine a past with him, their friends and colleagues, anything to trigger her memory but to no avail. "No," she almost whispered.

His lips pinched tightly showing his distress and he took in a fraught breath through his nose. "Not even Hank?" he gasped, his voice rising in disbelief. "But you keep asking for him."

She shook her head again, and he covered his eyes, bowing his head, futilely hiding his anguish. Seeing him torn up like that was unbearable and Sara closed her eyes, releasing more tears. "I can smell him," she said after a moment, "all around me."

Grissom didn't acknowledge her words. She heard him move, her eyes reopening to find him at the end of the bed, pacing restlessly. Why couldn't he just take her in his arms and whisper soothing, comforting words? Why couldn't he say that it didn't matter, that she couldn't help it, that it wasn't her fault?

"What about Adam Trent?" he asked abruptly. Something in the change of tone in his voice chilled her to the bone. He stopped pacing and hung his head, a shaky hand running through his hair. "Your nightmare last night?" he said refocusing icy eyes onto her. "You remember him!"

"It was just that, a nightmare," she defended weakly, swallowing a sudden feeling of impending doom, "A flashback."

"Why did you lie?" he asked suddenly, his tone cold and accusing.

"I didn't lie."

"This is too much," he muttered to himself, turning away. "I can't deal with this now on top of everything else."

"Gilbert, please, understand-"

"What is there to understand?" he snapped angrily. He checked himself, lowered his voice, "All this time we were together you knew and you kept it from me."

"I thought my memory would come back, that I wouldn't need to tell you. I thought-"

"That you'd keep it from me," he finished for her, resignedly. "You lied, Sara. All the time we were together you were pretending. With me, with everybody."

And as she stared in his eyes, eyes so full of grief, so dull, cold and lifeless she could see that his world as he knew it was slowly crumbling, disintegrating around him for a second time. She'd made a mistake in not coming clear straightaway, she could see that now. She'd always known it would hit him hard, and it did. He felt let down, worse, betrayed. The amnesia he could have coped with, but not her pretence. She hadn't been pretending, though, had she?

"You're right," she said at last. "I'm sorry."

He raked a shaky hand through his hair. "This isn't you. The Sara I know wouldn't have hidden this from me for so long. The Sara I love couldn't have."

"I was scared," she cut in earnestly, "Scared that you would leave me if you knew."

"Then you don't know me at all."

His jaw clenched, his mouth twitching nervously, his heartbreak and disappointment written all over his face. Sara blinked at the sense of déjà-vu that suddenly flashed across her eyes. She'd seen him like this before, broken, defeated, about to retreat upon himself. He was in shock, her apparent betrayal too much for him to fathom and nothing she could say or do now could make it better, would make him stay. He lifted heartbroken eyes to her and shrugged helplessly, pitifully.

"Please," she begged. "I love you."

"How can you say that?" he lamented sadly. "How can you say you love me when you don't know me?" He let out a small empty laugh. "You don't know me at all. I've been a bastard to you, Sara. For years I treated you badly." His head shaking he swallowed hard, then he turned away before moving toward the door.

"Gilbert!" she cried out.

He startled, stopping at the door and slowly turning toward her. His eyes were closed, his breathing deliberately slow and controlled. "It's Gil," he said dejectedly. Tears spilled and he blinked his eyes open. "Gil," he repeated in a fraught whisper. "You never call me Gilbert, Sara. Never. You know I don't like it. It always was Grissom…." he faltered, his tears coming faster now, "and more recently, Gil." Turning he brought his hand to the handle and opened the door.

"Please," she said, her heart breaking at his misery, "Don't walk out."

He paused, flicking his eyes to her over his shoulder before closing them, but not before she'd glimpsed something new in there – shame. "I'm sorry," he said sadly, "but I can't do this now. I need…I need a little time, a little space. I need to be away from here for a while. I'm sorry."

"Gil," she called out to him when he opened the door wider, ready to leave.

He stopped in his tracks and hung his head, keeping his back to her. He wasn't doing such a good job of hiding his sorrow now, every one of his quiet, stifled sobs ripping her a little more apart.

"It's okay," she said quietly, making herself talk slowly. "It's okay for you to react this way and be angry. I should have told you straightaway, I realise that now." She paused, and when he didn't move or speak, added emotionally, "Take as long as you need. But know that, even though I don't remember, my love for you is real and hasn't changed. I wasn't pretending. It's in my heart and soul, the only thing the…accident didn't – couldn't – take away from me."

Till death do us part, he'd professed as she lay almost dead, and she knew he'd meant every word. And as she watched the door close after him, she knew that he would be back. Not now, or tomorrow, or even the next day, but when he was ready. When he was calmer, stronger, when he had made sense of what had just hit him. He was hurting now, but he would be back.

Sad eyes lowered to the bed, catching sight of the photograph of the two of them lying discarded on her lap. Her face lit up and she smiled. They looked so happy then, so together and full of promise.

"August 17th," she said in an incredulous gasp as she stared at his bright and laughing eyes. Her head shot up, the smile on her face broadening with delight as she turned toward the door, the tears now flowing, tears of joy. "Your date of birth, I remember now. It's August 17th, 1956."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: La lumière de l'âme, votre revue pour le dernier chapitre m'a fait énormément plaisir. Merci.

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><p>Grissom remained with his head resting against Sara's bedroom door, his hand on the handle, his heart heavy with pain and heartbreak for a very long time. His mind was whirling, his ears ringing, pulsating with blood and he scrunched his eyes tightly shut. How could she have kept hidden from him something as significant as her memory loss, especially when it involved him and her recollection of a life with him so directly? But more importantly in his eyes, how could she have kept up the pretence, lying to him so convincingly for so long?<p>

In his sorrow, in his confusion and anger, he never once stopped to consider how this was affecting Sara. His reaction had to have hurt her, especially since she didn't know him anymore. Had he stopped to consider how much courage it took for her to even tell him about her amnesia? How much courage it took to even want to get better, let alone begin to heal both physically and mentally after the ordeal she'd been through? She was a remarkable woman, much braver than he could ever be, and yet again he'd shown her his foibles in the worst possible manner.

His head dipped, tears falling pitifully, his anger slowly abating and making way to crushing disappointment. At Sara, but at himself too for the way he'd reacted and spoken to her. He'd behaved atrociously, said things he didn't mean, cruel words spoken rashly that regretfully he could never take back. Sara wasn't responsible for her memory loss, he knew that, but her deception, her betrayal had cut him deep, further wounding his already bleeding heart.

He wiped his eyes, pushed off the door and turned, headed out. He needed some space and distance. He needed to clear his head. He'd go ride a rollercoaster. No. He'd go for a drive, then ride a coaster and come back calmer, with words of regrets and apology. That's what he'd do. He left the building, wincing as the afternoon sun still shining brightly overhead hit his pupils. He reached into his pocket for his sunglasses and letting out a long breath at finding them gone brought his hand up to shield his eyes.

His head shaking, his eyes stinging with yet more tears, he began walking across the parking lot to his car. Thinking better of it he stopped abruptly, jumping with fright at the sudden blast of a car horn. He took a second to let his racing heart calm and raising his broken arm in apology moved out of the way, letting the car pass. Who was he kidding? He couldn't leave. He couldn't leave her when she was so alone, and yet he couldn't bring himself to go back to her either. Not yet.

Checking both ways for traffic, he retraced his steps across the lot, then took a left, locating a darkened passageway between the main building and the annexe with the custom-built therapy pool he'd read about in the brochure. The passageway opened out onto a large open courtyard with wide sheltered walkways on the perimeter and squares of well-tended lawn and a fountain in the sunny heart of it all. Immediately the calmness permeating the place enveloped him; he stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the trickling water quieten his mind.

A few patients sat in wheelchairs dozing in the shade; others were taking a cautious walk, helped along with aides or family members. He found a bench slightly to the side and sat down on it, watching as a little girl sitting on the edge of the fountain giggled while she opened out her hand to the water softly cascading out of cherubs' urns. Sara would love it here, he mused, a sad, wistful smile suddenly tugging at the corner of his lip, and so would Hank.

A gentle female voice spoke softly behind him, drawing him out of his reverie. "Come on, we're almost there," it said cheerily. "Another step forward. That's it. And another. Well done," it enthused warmly.

Grissom's eyes narrowed in recognition of the voice, and he slowly shifted round on the bench, watching over his shoulder Sara's physical therapist at work. Under Marcy's attentive eye her patient, an elderly lady, was making slow progress, each step laboured at having to more or less drag her right foot forward while weak, shaky hands held on to a walking frame with wheels. Idly, Grissom wondered what had happened to her, if maybe she'd suffered a stroke. And yet despite her handicap she carried on doggedly, slowly lifting one foot and then dragging the other forward while pushing the frame, painstakingly repeating the process until she got to the end of the smooth concrete path.

Marcy's hands were on the woman's shoulders now, praising, and he smiled as he imagined that it was Sara there, taking her first steps and moving forward with her life. The symbolism wasn't lost on him and Brass's words came back to him. He sighed as he finally realised why Sara had told him now, and not on first waking up. She was ready to make a fresh start, with new memories. A new future.

"Now turn around, Gladys," Marcy said, causing him to refocus his gaze on the pair, "and look how much further you've come today."

Turning toward him, Gladys slowly eased her body round to look back over her shoulder. She looked uncomfortable, almost in pain, the hands that gripped the walking frame shaking and bent. Her eyes lit up with such delight, a slow crooked smile forming on her lips at the visible progress she'd made that Grissom's heart filled with pride for her.

"That will be Sara one day," he thought proudly, "and I will be the one holding her hand."

The sound of heeled footsteps coming up the concrete path cut into his thoughts. A shadow fell over him as the person sat on the bench next to him. He let out an inward sigh at the intrusion and turned back round so he once again faced forward. He didn't make eye contact and was considering a quick retreat when the woman spoke.

"She told you, then?"

Grissom didn't look over immediately. Nodding, he rubbed a weary hand over his face. "Sara's okay?" he asked, when Laura fell silent.

"I don't know," she replied. "I was getting back to her when I saw Greg arrive. I wasn't sure whether you were still with her or not, and it would seem you're not." She paused and sighed, her hand lifting to his forearm. "You okay?"

He nodded his reply. "Seeing Greg will be good for her. He's always been able to lift her spirits."

"I like Greg," Laura mused fondly. "Did you know he has a crush on her?"

Grissom couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, his face lighting up at the memory of one particular talk he'd had to Sara about it, not that he'd ever admit to feeling jealous or remotely threatened by their easy intimacy. "Everyone knows," he replied, glancing round at Laura. "Sara included." The smile dropped off his face as he realised what he'd just said. Laura studied him, the smile on her lips as soft and compassionate as her words had been, and unable to hold her gaze he quickly looked away. "I'm sure he's already got her laughing at some gossip from the lab," he said a little gruffly, badly hiding his discomfort.

She sighed. "Sara didn't mean to-"

His whipped his head round, interrupting her mid-sentence. "How long have you known?" he asked a little curter than he meant to, as the implications of her initial question finally hit home.

Laura did a double take, visibly startled by his change of tone. "I'm sorry?"

He lifted a despondent shoulder. "How long have _you_ known about Sara's amnesia?"

She watched him a long moment before finally averting her gaze as she admitted, "Since yesterday."

Fresh tears welled in his eyes, and he swallowed the tightness in his throat. "You've known since yesterday and you didn't think to tell me?" His voice was quiet and resigned. He hated how aggrieved and wounded he sounded, but he couldn't help the sadness that filled him at what he regarded as a second betrayal.

Laura brought her eyes back up to his. "It wasn't my place," she defended quietly.

"She told you before she told me," he said, his voice betraying his heartbreak. His left hand rose, wiping at his eyes, his head shaking in disbelief. "_You_, who let her down, betrayed and abandoned her. She told _you_," he repeated sadly choking on the last word, "before me."

If Laura was hurt by his words she didn't show it. "It wasn't like that," she said in a sigh. A comforting hand came up to his shoulder but he shrugged it off, turning away from her probing stare. "She doesn't care for me the way she cares for you," she carried on softly. "She isn't afraid of losing_me_. But she is afraid of losing you. She's afraid she's already lost you."

Grissom shook his head, his certainties once more shattering at this news, then pushed up to his feet, leaving. She put a stopping hand on his arm, and he paused.

"At least she remembers who we both are," she said quietly. "Imagine how Greg will feel, how all her friends will feel, when they learn that Sara doesn't remember them at all." She paused, letting a long breath out. "I hadn't figured you for someone who jumps ship at the first sign of water," she said, but not unkindly. "But if that's the kind of man you truly are, Mr Grissom, then it's better that you leave now. If you're not prepared to last the distance and help Sara through the good_and_ the bad, then you're not worthy of her love and she's better off without you."

Grissom's head lowered, his eyes screwing shut as her words pierced straight through his heart. "She's got you now, hasn't she?"

"This isn't a competition. We're both here because we love her and we want to help her." She let out a small uneasy laugh. "And let's face it; she's going to need all the help she can get, from _all_ of us if she is to ever get back even a semblance of a normal life. Isn't that what you want for her?"

"Of course," he said vehemently, finally turning round and meeting her eye. "I want nothing more than everything to get back to normal." His eyes clenched at the tears rising from within him.

Her hands took hold of both his and squeezed warmly. "It's okay to let yourself grieve for the Sara you knew," she said, and his eyes scrunched tighter shut at her words, as for the first time since Sara awoke he realised that although she was still alive he had lost her. Laura gave his left hand a gentle tug, coaxing him back down onto the bench next to her. "Even if her memory eventually comes back," she went on, echoing his thoughts, "she'll never be that Sara again, her injuries are such that…that's never going to be possible."

"I know." He pulled his left hand free, bringing it up to his eyes, wretchedly nodding his head at her words.

She let out another long breath. "Go home for the night. Take Hank for a long walk somewhere, clear you head, and tomorrow you can start again."

He lowered his hand and gave her another nod. "I'll go make sure Sara's okay first."

Laura's face lit up with a fond smile. Her hand came up to his face, giving his cheek a gentle pat. Smiling his gratitude he rose to his feet and quickly made his way back indoors. He was rounding the corner to her corridor when he saw Nick and Warrick joking and laughing ahead of him. He stopped dead in his tracks. Everyone would be there and if he joined them now it would be awkward for her, and him. Let her enjoy her friends' company, he thought sadly, they'd know how to cheer her up.

He drove back to Catherine's on autopilot, finding the house empty. He should have wanted to be there, but he didn't. He took the keys to the townhouse off the hook and drove there instead. He pulled the car up in the drive, killed the engine and stayed behind the wheel for a long time staring at the house as he tried to muster the strength to go inside. The memories of the last time he'd sought refuge there tormented him still, and he felt sick to his stomach at how stupidly he'd acted then.

He got out of the car, unconsciously scanning his gaze all around the front of the house and street for signs of McKay and her boys before shaking his head at his ridiculous behaviour: McKay was dead, he told himself yet again, and the remaining Wallis in jail. He let himself in, grateful again for Catherine's intervention in getting the house in order, headed straight for his and Sara's bedroom. He felt so bone tired, so weary all of a sudden, and yet he couldn't bring himself to lie down on their bed, let alone sleep in it, opting for the couch instead.

He stripped to his underwear, put the television on, mindlessly flicking through the channels, eventually settling on some documentary on the Discovery Channel. He must have fallen asleep then, for the next thing he knew, the repeated overly-long ringing of his doorbell jolted him awake. Pulling himself up from his awkward position on the couch he stretched his sore back while quickly wiping the back of his left hand over his mouth. He checked his watch for the time, his eyes widening in shock as he read 7 am. He certainly felt a lot calmer, more reposed, after almost twelve hours sleep. The television droned on in the background and he switched it off.

"Yeah, yeah," he called back gruffly to yet another ringing of his bell, "I'm coming."

He was finishing doing his pants up when he got to the door, bringing a blurry eye to the peephole. He turned the dead lock with a heavy sigh and opened the door, revealing a smiling Catherine. "What are you doing here?" he asked warily.

Her smile widened pleasurably. "Take-out breakfast," she said waving a paper bag at him with one hand and removing her sunglasses with the other, enquiring with a lift of her brow if he was going to let her in. "Sorry it's Frank's, but I knew you had nothing in and I didn't have time to grab anything else."

He sighed and grudgingly opened the door wider. "How did you know where to find me?" he asked as he closed and secured the door behind her.

"Lily said your bed hadn't been slept in," she replied easily, "it wasn't hard to figure."

Grissom preceded her down the stairs to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder as he asked, "You want some coffee with the pancakes?"

Catherine's brow rose in surprise, and she smiled. "Sure."

He busied himself at the counter, setting about making coffee, while Catherine made herself comfortable on a stool at the island. He paused, watching as the coffee began percolating through into the pot. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head and he wondered at the real reason behind her visit.

"I hope this doesn't mean you're ready to move out already," she said musingly. "I quite like having a man about the house."

He turned around, meeting her gaze levelly, appraising. "You know," he stated quietly after a moment, "You know, and you know I know."

To her credit Catherine didn't bother to deny it. "It depends," she replied a rogue smile twisting her lips, "on what you're talking about, and on whether you want me to."

"How?"

"How I know? Or how I know you know?" she asked devilishly. She lifted an easy shoulder at the deadpan look he gave her. "I figured both out for myself. Sara's secret when I went to visit her the day before yesterday and yours when you opened the door just now." She laughed. "All the while I was there, Gil, she was watching me strangely, like she was assessing me, like she didn't know me. And then it hit me. She _didn't_ know me." Her smile faded and she looked away.

"You tricked her," he said, his head shaking at the realisation.

Catherine's expression darkened imperceptivity. "I mentioned Lindsey and it was clear she didn't know who she was." She flashed him a brief smile and shrugged, and he nodded. "Don't worry," she added brightly, "I didn't let on."

"To me either, it would seem."

"Gil…"

His eyes flicked down, his shoulder rising, defeated. "When she told me the last eight years had been erased from her memory I walked out on her, Catherine," he said in a low voice. Unable to face the reproach he was sure to find in her gaze he turned away, setting about to transfer their pancakes onto plates.

Amazingly, there were no words of reproach, no mutterings of "Typical Grissom" or even a disgusted "How could you?" out of Catherine's lips. "Who else knows?" she asked instead, breaking the lengthy silence that had settled between the two, and Grissom was grateful that for the first time in her life she wasn't judging.

"Just her mother and me," he replied before looking over his shoulder, "and you."

She gave him a solemn nod. "You want me to tell Jim?"

"No," he replied with a resolute shake of the head. "I think it's best Sara and I do it together."

She acknowledged his words with a satisfied purse of her lips. "Don't be too hard on yourself," she then said, "Sara knows you; she knows how your brain works. She'll-"

"No," he cut in, "Sara _knew_ me. She doesn't know me now. For the last few weeks I've been thinking of it all as a second chance when in fact what I've been given is a brand-new chance." His face lit up unexpectedly at the revelation. "It's like wiping the slate clean and starting again, and from now on I'm not going to make the same mistakes I made before. No more walking out. That's not the man I want Sara to get to know. I'm there for the long haul and I'm going to show her the man I've grown into, the man _she_ made me grow into, the man I am now."

Catherine could only stare at him speechless and without another word he once again turned away, tending to the coffee. He poured them both a cup and silently they shared breakfast. He was finishing the last of his pancakes when he looked up, an awkward smile forming on his face as he caught her watching him.

"What?" he asked, reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth with it.

"It's good to see you eating again," she said simply, a soft smile to her lips. "You've lost weight, too much." He watched as she got up, opening cupboard after cupboard and rummaging inside. He was about to ask what she was looking for when straightening out she pulled out a roll of trash bags. "Now go for a shower while I clear this up," she said as she tore off a bag from the roll, "and when you're ready I'll shave you face again. And you've got to go to the barber's to have your hair cut." She reached out a hand and pulled one of his curls out. "It's past being too long."

Grissom couldn't bring himself to be angry at Catherine for her overbearing behaviour. He was about to point out that he could have his beard done at the barber's too when he thought better of it. Smiling, he took the bag from her and headed for the shower. When he finished he found her waiting in the kitchen, his shaving kit spread out on the counter at the ready, engrossed in studying a picture of the reunited graveyard team taken after Nick's abduction. It was a favourite of Sara's, he thought, a fresh pang of sadness twisting his chest. He walked up to Catherine from behind, causing her to startle as he took the picture from her and silently put it back on the shelf.

"You ready?" she asked with a wave to the counter when he turned. "I thought we could do it here."

Grissom took a seat on the stool she'd set up and Catherine began the slow work of shaving him. She had finished one side when she paused, causing him to open one eye uncertainly.

"I'm worried about Hank," she said, meeting his eye. "Lily said he spent the night by the front door, awaiting your return. He's looking depressed, hardly eating anything or wanting to go for walks." He sighed, glancing down at her words. "You can't keep doing that to him, Gil. I'm sure he thought you'd gone and left him too."

His gaze snapped up. "Sara hasn't left him."

Catherine's brow rose. "Does he know that?"

Grissom's expression softened. "He will soon. I've decided to take him to her today, after a short visit to the vet."

Catherine's face lit up pleasurably. "That's the spirit," she said, sounding far too victorious for his liking, as she brought the blade back up to his eye line. "Now lean your head back so I can do the other side."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Catherine won't be shaving Grissom's face again, I promise. ;-)

Thank you again to everyone for reading and reviewing, but also to those who've recently added the story to their favourites. Your continued support is what is making this journey so special.

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><p>"Now be a good boy and remember what I said," Grissom told Hank as he came to a stop at Sara's door.<p>

Tail wagging animatedly the boxer carried on down the corridor, straining forward, forcefully pulling at the short leash in his eagerness to see Sara. Grissom gave a sigh of impatience and the leash a sharp tug, reeling Hank back to his heel. The dog gave a small whimper of discontent and with a forlorn look at his master obediently dropped down to his hind legs.

"No jumping on the bed," Grissom resumed saying in his stern voice, "or on Sara. No over-zealous licking of her face or any other parts of her body for that matter." He sighed and making eye contact added, "And absolutely _no_ barking, peeing or, God forbids, worse."

Head tilted to the side Hank stared up at his master for a moment, clearly questioning the wisdom of such demands before letting out a small bark in agreement. His tail still wagged as furiously now as when he'd been first told he'd be seeing Sara soon and Grissom couldn't repress the amused smile tugging at his lips.

"I know you've missed her," he went on, his voice softening, his left hand dropping to the boxer's head, "but remember that she won't be able to return your affection." He paused and sighed again. "She's probably going to seem a little…different too. Don't go upsetting her, okay?"

Hank got up on all fours, gave himself a shake and then flicked an impatient glance to the door, seemingly telling his master to 'get on with it'. Grissom took a breath and tightening his hold on the leash with his left hand clumsily inserted the key card with his right one while opening the door. Immediately Hank burst his way through the gap, unceremoniously dragging Grissom forward into the room with him.

Sara's bed was empty, and the smile dropped off Grissom's face. Hank was pulling at the leash again, straining and yelping, and Grissom unconsciously let go of it before checking his watch to make sure he wasn't too early for visiting hours. Where could she be? She should have finished the day's therapies by now, he thought with growing distress, and he knew because he'd called first thing in the morning that she'd had a good night sleep.

"Ank," he heard her call in a giggle from behind him, causing an overwhelming wave of relief to come crashing over him, "comerebaby."

Hank let out a small joyful bark, then another, and Grissom turned round, his face lighting up at the scene. Beaming despite the tears coursing down the side of her face, Sara was sitting in a customised wheelchair by the window staring at Hank. Immediately, he noticed that her hair had been tied back in a ponytail, hiding her shaved patch and scar and exposing the whole of her face and neck, giving her the youthful look of when they'd first met. Her hands were neatly folded on her lap over the chenille blanket covering her legs that Brass had brought from their house, and Grissom could just about make out underneath the chair belt fastened around her waist keeping her steady.

Seeing her like this, out of bed and looking so well stole his breath, and his words of apology. He didn't know what he had expected after the events of the previous day, but this was not it. The cold shoulder and silent treatment most certainly, tears of anger and frustration maybe, resentment even, but this serene-looking Sara wrong-footed him. Tears rose in his eyes and he remained rooted to the spot, watching with his mouth agape Sara and Hank reacquaint with each other.

Hank kept leaping back and forth toward the chair, circling hesitatingly, yelping and looking back over his shoulder toward Grissom as though seeking permission to greet his mistress the way he wanted to. Her gaze lifted, meeting his, her wide grin quivering, as she too waited for his go-ahead. Smiling and blinking, he took a step toward the pair, quickly checking with his eyes that the brakes were on the chair before softly nodding his head. Sara softly called the boxer to her and with a loud bark of delight Hank rose up on his hind legs, dropping his front paws on Sara's lap before stretching up and beginning a savage licking of her face. Visibly caught by surprise at his effusive display of affection Sara let out a small cry and leaned her head back, turning it away from his euphoric onslaught.

Grissom's face dropped in worry. "Hank," he instructed sharply, quickly covering the distance to them and grabbing Hank by the collar, "Get down."

"No," Sara said before he could pull the dog completely off her, "letim. Please, letim." She made eye contact and smiled. "Eesnoturtinme. Eesappyseeme."

On hearing Grissom's command Hank had paused in his ministrations and his paws still on Sara's lap stared up at his master uncertainly. Grissom paused and watched Sara, enquiring with his eyes whether she was sure.

Eagerly nodding her head at Grissom Sara refocused her attention on Hank. "Skay," she told him softly. The fingers of her right hand trembled as their tips lifted off her lap slightly brushing against the edge of his left paw. "Mappyseeyoutoo."

Grissom's eyes widened, snapping up to her face in shock, but she was talking softly to the dog now, acting as if nothing had happened, and he was left wondering whether what he'd just witnessed was only wishful thinking on his part.

"Gil," Sara called, and giving his head a shake he refocused his eyes on her, "Youmember? Youmemberwenwegotim?"

He gave a wistful nod of the head, a happy smile suddenly playing around the edges of his mouth. "Oh, yeah, I do. And it was all your doing, believe me." He paused, his head tilting to the side at the recollection. "You want me to tell you about it?"

"No," she said. Her eyes were closed now, a melancholy smile to her lips. "Ilmembertoo. Soon."

The night on the couch had left its marks and Grissom winced as he lowered to his haunches before unclipping the leash off Hank's collar. The boxer pushed off Sara's lap and gave himself a vigorous shake, before returning to her, sitting down by her legs and gently nudging his muzzle under her hands on her lap. Grissom's left hand sought Sara's over Hank's nose and catching her eye he smiled and squeezed it warmly.

Sara's intense delight at seeing Hank was so obvious that it couldn't help lift Grissom's spirits too, and for the first time in weeks he could see the light at the end of their very long tunnel shine a little brighter. He had been worried that seeing Hank would trigger her memories of the attack, but so far, so good, and he allowed himself to relax and rejoice at the fact that at long last his little family was reunited.

Hesitantly he lifted his and Sara's hands, placing them on the back of Hank's head and stroking it affectionately. He glanced up at Sara and finding her watching him gave her a small self-conscious smile. She smiled back, that new crooked smile of hers that she wore with pride and he felt a rush of love overcome him. She had that look in her eyes, as if she knew how significant this moment was, not just for her, but for him too; as if she knew that this was the first real affection he was giving the dog since the attack. And it was, of course, but seeing the togetherness and happiness emanating from Hank and Sara he couldn't stand not to be a part of it.

His eyes lowered to their joined hands still brushing over Hank's coat, narrowing suddenly before snapping back up to her face. She was still watching him intently. "How did you know about Hank?" he asked.

A contented smile forming on her lips Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Cansmellim," she said, her eyes reopening, "blanketJimbrought."

Grissom followed her gaze to her lap, smiling and nodding as understanding dawned. "'For the sense of smell, almost more than any other,'" he quoted, "'has the power to recall memories, and it is a pity that we use it so little'."

"Rachel Carson," she immediately said, causing his eyes to widen in pleasant surprise. The returning smile she beamed at him was very satisfied. "Avnot - forgotnevryfing."

He gave her a soft nod in agreement, then licked his lips tentatively. "I could bring her books along, read them to you, if you'd like. I think they're still in your apartment."

"Dlikedat."

The muscles in the back of his leg began to pull, and straightening up he let go of her hand and rubbed at it. "It's okay," he said on noticing the look of concern in her eyes, "I just need to sit down a little." He moved away and fetched the chair which he brought closer, before stopping abruptly and taking in the scene again: her hair, her clothes, the wheelchair. His heart swelled with love at the thought that she had gone to all that trouble for him, despite her constraints, and despite what he'd done.

"You were waiting," he said with sudden realisation, holding her gaze as he sat down across from her.

The smile adorning her lips now was knowing and as mischievous as the twinkle in her eye.

His widened playfully. "You knew we were coming."

Her smile faded. "Opedso," she conceded with a small shrug.

He reached across, gently cupping his hand to her neck and brushing his thumb over her cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't come to check up on you before I left last night. I wanted to, but-"

"Skay," she cut in quietly.

"No, it's not okay." His smile stiffened somewhat awkwardly. "The guys were here and I lost my nerve. I'm sorry."

"Skay."

Nodding, he gave her a loving smile. "Have you told them?"

Sara's eyes averted and she shook her head. Gently, he coaxed her face up until their eyes met again. "Good," he said, as he made a mental note to tell Dr Williamson too. "I want to be there with you when you do it. We'll do it together. It's going to be fine," he added his voice tender and reassuring on noticing the film of tears now shining in her eyes. "They'll understand. They will. Catherine already knows."

Sara swallowed. "Youtolder?"

"No." He lifted his shoulder, laughing in disbelief as he explained, "She worked it out. Catherine is…very perceptive, a much better investigator than me in a lot of ways, certainly a lot better at reading people than I am." He paused suddenly then and averted his eyes. He'd come with intentions and her unexpected welcome had made him lose sight of them. Now was the time to start making amends. He picked up her hand again and his eyes on it held it for a moment while mindlessly stroking her fingers as he searched for the words to convey his apology. Blowing out a breath he looked up, his shoulder rising sheepishly. "Sara, I…"

"Whatappendface?"

Grissom startled, then felt his hand to the cut on the underside of his chin. "Shaving accident," he said, his head shaking, his lips twitching at the recollection. Sara's eyes widened as they flicked to his broken arm, and he laughed. "Oh, no, not me. Let's just say that it's the last time I use that particular barber."

"Youdonav – toshave – forme," she said.

"I want to." His face took on a serious look again. "I'm sorry I walked out on you yesterday," he blurted out before the words left him again, "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. That's not me anymore. It used to be me; I was that man when we met, but you changed that. Allowing you into my _heart _changed that." He paused suddenly and took a breath. "It won't happen again, I swear to you."

"Skay."

"No, it's not okay," he countered vehemently, forcing a shaky smile. Blinking hard, he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss into it. "It took a lot of courage for you to tell me, and I threw it back to your face and hurt you. And I'm very sorry. I couldn't go past how what you were telling me was affecting_ me_. That's not who I am anymore and I lost sight of that." He gave a disbelieving laugh. "You said you let me down, but you didn't. _I_ did. I know that none of this is your fault and that-"

Sara made a shushing sound and he stopped. "Tsinpast. Iwannamovefowad," she said, looking at him in the eye, and he could see that she meant her words. "Startagain."

He smiled and nodded his head softly. "A brand-new chance."

Sara's face mirrored his pleasure and she nodded. "A new beginning."

He leaned over and they sealed their new start with a kiss. Hank raised his head off Sara's lap and Grissom pulled back watching as with one last look at his mistress the dog moved away, ready to start a detailed exploration of the room.

"I have just the perfect thing," Grissom said giddily, as he fished out of his jacket pocket Sara's camera and his glasses which he promptly slipped on. "I think we need a new photo for a new beginning," he explained while he removed the device out of its soft protective bag before automatically switching it on.

"Owsitwork?" Sara asked with wonderment.

Grissom paused. "Of course," he mused, looking up from the display window, "you've not seen one of them before, have you? It's yours from home; you've only just got it. It's your second one." He brought the chair round closer so he sat alongside Sara and they could both see the display clearly. "I still use film," he added in a self-effacing shrug, "This one's digital." To Sara's puzzled expression he explained, "You take a load of pictures, plug the camera into your computer and upload them directly onto it. Then you can print them off yourself if you want, or store them." He turned the camera over in his hand, showing Sara the side compartment. "It has a memory card there."

Eyes wide with excitement Sara looked up from his hands. "Noflm?"

"Nope," he replied with a satisfied headshake. "No more film. It saves on time, cost and storage." He lifted the camera, quickly framing a shot of the room in front of them. "See? You frame your shot, press the shutter and you can see immediately what it is you've taken." And to emphasize his point Grissom showed Sara the picture he'd just taken. "If you don't like it, you can delete it and start again." He looked over to her and when she met his eye smiled. His soft smile soon changed, making way to a more mischievous one.

"What?" Sara asked, her smile broadening uncertainly. "Iknowdatlook. Youmemberedsomfing."

"Maybe?" he replied, yet conceding her point with a rise of his brow. "You were experimenting with it," he said quickly, pinching his lips to suppress his growing grin but badly failing too. "Let's see. It might still be there." He pressed a few keys, laughing as a picture of him lying asleep on the couch with his mouth open and Hank dozing alongside him with his head resting on his chest appeared. He chanced a glance in her direction. "There, see for yourself," he said in a chuckle, bringing the camera to her eye line, "Not one of my better ones."

Sara leaned her face close to the camera, staring at it uncertainly. Realising his oversight Grissom put the camera down and removed his glasses, and after placing them on Sara's nose once again showed her the picture.

Her happy, carefree laughter at seeing him asleep on the couch was worth every bit of embarrassment he felt. Her laughter soon stopped, her face becoming serious as she studied the picture more closely. "Its – home?" she asked, her eyes practically glued to the display.

Grissom felt his heart clenched in his chest at her use of the word 'Home'. "Yeah, it is our home," he said, his gaze clouding. "We've…been living together for a few months now, but you've kept your apartment."

Sara's nod was solemn. "Movedinwivyou."

"No," he said, his face lighting up again. "We got a place together. This is _our_ home, Sara."

Sara looked up from the photo with surprise and stared at him for a long time before nodding her understanding and returning her attention to the camera. "Gotovers?"

Grissom pressed a key and shook his head. "You must have deleted the others, but that's why I brought the camera with me. I thought we could take a picture of the three of us to replace the old one of us in San Francisco. One for me at home and one for you to keep here, that way we can be with you all time, and you with us."

"Newmemries."

"Yes," he replied with visible pleasure before reclaiming his glasses.

Grissom got up, pulled the sliding table out of its hiding place and set the camera on top, carefully framing a shot of Sara and setting the timer. "We've got ten seconds," he said, quickly joining her side and calling for Hank to do the same.

Hank never made it in time for the first picture. The second didn't fare much better. By the third one both he and Sara were laughing delightedly. It took two other tries and a lot of persuasion to keep Hank still for Grissom to be satisfied with the result and show Sara the photo. Her reaction however wasn't what he expected. Gone was the smile and laughter, her face taking on a deeply serious, almost gloomy expression. Suddenly, her eyes swam with tears.

"Honey, what's wrong?" he asked with concern, unsure of what could have darkened her mood so rapidly.

She swallowed and glanced up from the camera. "I look…" the word died on her lips.

His heart sank; his gaze narrowed and lowered to the display as he realised that this was the first time she saw herself since the attack. Oh, God, why hadn't he thought of that? He checked the picture again. What could she be seeing that he hadn't? He'd tried to angle the camera in such a way as to not highlight her injuries, but…

"Beautiful," he said in a breathless gasp, looking up. He smiled and dropping the camera to her lap, cupped her face, his fingers stroking her cheek softly as he tried to convey in his eyes the sincerity of his words. Her eyes remained intent on her lap and he sighed before repeating quietly, "Sara, you look beautiful."

Her head shook at his words. Out of the blue, her face lit up in a revelatory smile. "Happy," she gasped in an awed whisper, refocusing shiny eyes onto him. "I lookappy."

Short of words Grissom grinned at her and leaning across gently brushed his lips over hers. Her ardent response to the kiss took him by surprise and he let out a low moan at the unexpected surge of desire that coursed through him. Hank let out a loud bark, startling him, and breathless he pulled away.

"Eeneedstopee," Sara said, laughing.

"I know." His head whipped round to Hank by the door as a crazy thought occurred. "Do you want to go for a ride?" he asked, the words leaving his lips before he could censor them.

She turned wide incredulous eyes toward him. "Indcar?"

"No," he replied in a chuckle. "They won't allow that. Not yet," he added at the sudden downturn of her mouth. "I was thinking closer, like here at the Centre. We could…huh…maybe take him for a walk together." His shoulder lifted, his smile becoming a little self-conscious. "There's this place I discovered yesterday, and I thought you and Hank might like to go there. We'd have to ask first, of course, but…"

"Idlovto," Sara cut in with enthusiasm, her eyes once again shining with tears. "Letsmake – newmemries - together."

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><p>AN: This almost feels like a good place to end the story, doesn't it? ;-)


	17. Chapter 17

The contented smile never left her lips as Sara stared up from behind Grissom's sunglasses at the vast expanse of clear blue sky. It was a beautiful day, the gentle breeze blowing her curls about her face a welcomed reprieve and the sound of the water trickling quietly in the background sweet music to her ears. Grissom had insisted that she sat in the shade but she'd refused, preferring instead to let the late April sunshine warm her skin. She hadn't realised until then how much she'd missed being outdoors.

After Hank had finished doing his business Grissom had taken her on a rather grand tour of the rehabilitation centre. Together they'd explored the many state of the art facilities and as she took everything in Sara found it oddly heart-warming to see that she wasn't alone, that the Centre was full of people like her, people who were having to relearn the hard way even the most basic life skills lost through illness, disease or accident. She thought she'd be one of the younger patients there but she wasn't, by a long way.

Turning toward him she took a moment to observe him, unguarded, rested, at ease. He had his eyes closed, a soft smile to his lips and his head leaning back as he stared skyward. Their hands were entwined on her lap and he hadn't let go of hers since he'd sat down on the end of the bench next to where he'd parked the wheelchair. Hank lay on the grass at their feet dozing and Sara wished that this moment could last forever.

She's woken up lighter, happier for telling him about her amnesia and had at no time at all doubted that he wouldn't come back to her but his intention, his consideration and thoughtfulness had blown her away. Orchestrating her welcome to him hadn't been easy, far from it, but his reaction, the sheer look of shock in his eyes as he'd turned toward her, the love, relief and gratitude that filled his features, and being out there with him and Hank now, more than made up for her pain and discomfort.

She returned her attention to the sky and took another deep breath of hot, dry desert air, letting it slowly fill her lungs. "Do we do this a lot?" she asked musingly, breaking for the first time the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"What?" he hummed in reply.

She slowly turned her head toward him. "Sit in silence like this, contemplating."

Immediately, his head snapped round to her, his eyes opening with what looked like fear. "You don't like it?"

The defensiveness in his tone raised a smile. "I didn't say that."

He shrugged and then reluctantly nodded his head. "Yeah, we do," he replied finally, "a lot." He smiled at her then, tenderly, almost shyly, before once again turning his face to the sky and closing his eyes. "We sometimes take a drive out to the desert," he said wistfully after a moment, "Or to Lake Mead. We take some blankets, sometimes a picnic, books, the camera, and we lie out and just be."

Sara closed her eyes and let his memories become hers as she tried to imagine them there together, at peace. "What, like we are doing now?"

"No," he chuckled. "For starters Hank would be at the sitters. Then we'd be a lot closer to each other." And just to prove his point he shuffled a little closer on the bench and letting go of her hand slowly snaked his arm between the chair and her shoulders. "I'd be holding you in my arms like this," he said, his voice quiet and faraway, as if he was reliving the scene, "Your head would be resting on my shoulder, or on my chest. My fingers would be drawing patterns on your skin as we lay motionless staring at the sky. You're right on one count, though," he added after a beat.

"What's that?"

"We wouldn't talk much."

He paused, and she reopened her eyes, watching the smile of recollection dance on his lips. His smile trembled slightly and he swallowed. His eyes were still closed, his face turned skyward and she wondered exactly what it was he was remembering. She leaned her head on his shoulder as much as she could, her eyes drifting shut with contentment when he pressed his lips to her hair.

"You particularly love it at dusk," he continued in his soft voice after a while in silence, "when the sun sets over Mount Charleston."

His breath on her skin awakened sensations that Sara had forgotten about and that suddenly made her feel very alive, unexpectedly causing tears to form in her eyes.

"You've taken countless beautiful, _beautiful_ photographs of that scene," he recounted, "and you're never happy with the result." There was a tremor in his voice now, the words mere whispers on his lips. "And when the sun has set and it gets too cold we snuggle closer under the blanket, and later, much later we take shelter in the car, but you're loath to come home so we end up cuddling up in the backseat." He burst into a quiet chuckle then, a low rumble that shook and warmed Sara to her core. "Until one of us gets called into work and…" his words trailed off and he blew out a sigh.

"Will you take me there again?" she asked. "When they allow?"

His hand tightened around her shoulder and he squeezed her to him. "I can't wait," he said in a murmur, once again brushing his lips to her temple.

"Neither can I," she almost whispered as she turned toward him. His eyes shone with a film of tears.

"Then we got ourselves a date," he said quietly.

"A date?" she repeated, the breath catching in her throat.

"The first of many more." Smiling he leaned across and kissed her softly on the mouth. "Thank you," he said, "for making it so easy for me…now and before. Seeing you like this – being like this with you just blows me away."

Sara nodded, her eyes dropping to Hank hesitantly, her lips pinching so she wouldn't cry. "They want to start reintroducing proper food into my diet," she told him after a while, glancing up toward him.

His eyes widened with a mixture of glee and surprise. "Yeah?"

She lifted a self-conscious shoulder. "A few more days and Paula thinks I'll be ready, that I'll be able to swallow without choking or gagging or..." her face darkened imperceptibly.

He removed his arm, shifting round on the bench so he faced her, and reached for her hands over the arm of the chair. "That's great news, Sara," he enthused, his grin widening excitedly as he gave her hands a tight squeeze. "I know how much you hate it…you know…being tube fed. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Her shoulder lifted again and he sighed, his face becoming contrite. "Don't," she said, pre-empting another apology.

"What?"

"Apologise again."

Pursing his face at her words he nodded, then turned away, lapsing into silence.

"Tell me about them," Sara said, "the guys. What are they really like?"

Grissom laughed. "Where do I start?" he said musingly. "Catherine likes to say we're like a family – a kind of…extended family, I guess. And maybe she's right, I mean you're all pretty tight and even though you all already spend far too much time with each other through work you still choose to have breakfast together, or go for drinks, socialise."

"Not you?"

His shoulder rose. "You fitted right in, from the start. _I_ preferred to sit on the sidelines and watch."

"Past tense?"

He remained silent for a while, visibly pondering that thought before nodding his head and meeting her eye. "I guess I've been tagging along a little more, recently."

Sara's lips pursed into a smile. "And they didn't know about us?"

"Nope," he said, smiling pleasurably, "They didn't know about us. No one did." His face darkened. "No one _could_."

"And they never suspected?"

He laughed again. "Evidently, they're not that good at their jobs, are they?"

"Everybody knows now," Sara pondered, throwing a cautious glance in his direction.

"Yeah, they do," he said in a quiet reflective voice.

The regret in his voice made her stare at him with narrowed eyes. "You mind that they do?" she asked with surprise.

Giving his head a shake he refocused his gaze on her. "Do I mind…No, Sara," he denied vehemently. "Of course not. We just didn't tell them – _couldn't_ tell them – because of work. They wouldn't have allowed for us to keep seeing each other and work together." He paused, his eyes narrowing, his head tilting to the side questioningly. "You don't think that, do you? That I'd mind them knowing? That I'd deliberately want to keep our relationship a secret from them?"

"No, I don't," Sara said sincerely, breaking into a smile. "You were just looking gloomy." To his puzzled stare she added, "I was messing with you, Griss."

A wide smile unexpectedly spread across his face. "You called me Griss, just then, you did," he exclaimed with disbelief.

Sara frowned and replayed what she'd just told him in her head, then raised an uncertain shoulder. "It just…slipped out. I didn't realise I said it."

His face softened with love, and he nodded. "I prefer it when you call me Gil," he said almost timidly. "It's more…intimate." His eyes lit up with mischief and badly hiding the grin emerging added, "Although I was getting used to being called Gil-_bret_."

Sara's eyes narrowed in mock-offence, her mouth making a pout, and suddenly she had this urge to punch him on the arm. Automatically she made to lift her right arm, only managing a small, uncontrolled jerk of her hand that neither noticed.

"You wanted to punch me in the arm, didn't you?" he said, laughing with amusement.

"How did you know?" she asked, amazed that he'd read her so well.

"Habitual hazard, I'm afraid," he said, keeping his tone and expression neutral. "You want me to show you the bruises?" He kept his stare on her but unable to keep up the pretence gave her a teasing wink.

She looked at her hands on her laps. "Soon," she said, grinning up at him cheekily.

"I can't wait," he said, his expression becoming solemn and a little sad. His eyes flicked to a passing couple, and he sighed. "Listen, Sara," he began tentatively**,**"I was thinking. How do you want to do it? With the guys."

Sara watched as opening one eye Hank gave his head a shake. "I'm not sure," she said in a sigh, glancing back up at him. "You know them. What do you think?"

His shoulder lifted, his face pursing uncertainly. "I think maybe we should just get them all here together and tell them."

Sara nodded, her gaze lowering uncertainly. The news of her memory loss would be a shock to all of them, but of the three she knew Greg would be the most affected. From the candid, open and loving way he'd behaved toward her when he'd visited she knew they shared a special bond, a deep and carefree friendship bordering on brotherly affection.

He gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "It's going to be okay," he said, once again reading her thoughts. "Having Nick and Warrick around will be easier on Greg."

She looked up and smiled, then gave him an unconvinced nod. "I want to tell Jim first, though," she said after a pause. "On his own."

His face softened with a smile. "He'll appreciate that. But don't worry; he'll be fine about it. If anything I think he'll be relieved."

"How?"

Grissom's gaze averted. "He already knows something's wrong."

"He's been a good friend to you, hasn't he?"

Nodding, Grissom gave her a soft smile. "I'm just glad it's all out in the open."

"Me too," Sara said. "I want to tell them today. Now."

He laughed, then checked his watch as he said, "I don't think that's a good idea." To her puzzled expression he chuckled, adding, "Honey, they had to work doubles last night, they'll all be sleeping."

"Jim won't. My mother said that they were going out for an early-bird special and then that he was going to show her the sights."

There was a beat while he watched her uncertainly, visibly replaying in his mind what she'd told him. "Is he now?" he then remarked with a sardonic purse of his mouth. "And what? You don't trust her not to tell him?"

"It's not that," Sara said, making a conscious effort to speak more slowly. "I know she won't. She didn't tell _you_, did she?"

"No, she didn't."

His eyes looked up abruptly, focusing on a point beyond her shoulder, his lips forming into a polite smile as he straightened away from Sara. A hand fell on her shoulder and she awkwardly rotated her head to her left, letting out a deep sigh of annoyance at the sight of the no-doubt well-meaning but nonetheless intruding nursing assistant.

Sara's disappointment didn't go unnoticed. "I'm sorry," the nursing assistant said, her tone of voice echoing her sentiment, as she moved into Sara's eye line, "I know you were enjoying yourself but I need to take you back in now. It's getting late and it's time for…" her voice trailed off as her gaze flicked to the underside of the wheelchair hesitantly, "your medication."

"Oh," Grissom said, immediately jumping to his feet while Hank gave a wide yawn, slowly following suit. "I'm sorry," he told the aide, "I didn't mean to lose track of time like this."

Despite being grateful for the nursing assistant's discretion Sara felt her heart sink, once again reminded of the bleak reality of her condition. Her mood darkened instantly. _Medication_, she thought with a despondent shake of the head, her eyes clenching tightly shut in frustration. She felt tears rise again and she hated herself for that too. She had no control over anything, her emotions included.

She heard Grissom move; his hands reached across framing her face, gentle fingers wiping the tears from her cheeks before coaxing her head up. She opened her eyes, finding him crouching in front of her, his eyes as loving and understanding as the hesitant smile on his lips.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he said tenderly. "Don't be sad. We'll come again tomorrow, I promise. And the next day, and the day after that, until they say it's okay for me to take you out properly." He stroked his fingers over her lips until her bottom lip quavered into a tentative smile. "Okay?"

And as she stared into his eyes Sara could only see love, devotion and certainty. Her face brightened a little and she nodded her head at him, slowly at first and then more forcefully. He leaned across and kissed her softly on the forehead before pulling away and smiling at the aide.

"Did your mother find you?" she enquired hesitantly, her gaze flicking between the two. "She was looking for you earlier."

"When did she come?" Grissom asked as he and Sara exchanged a look of surprise.

"About an hour ago?" she answered. "We told her you were here. Didn't she find you?"

With a wince and a rub of his leg Grissom stood up to his full height before replying in the negative.

"That's strange." the aide said, giving Sara a cheery smile. "I'm sure she'll be back tomorrow. Oh, and your brother called," she added brightly as an afterthought. "Enquired about you and how you were settling in, then asked to speak to Dr Williamson."

Sara's gaze darkened and she let out a long sigh, her eyes lowering as she gave the aide a small nod of understanding. Seeing her brother at her bedside on waking up back in Reno had been as great a shock, and as distressing, as realising she'd lost her memory. He'd tried to reach out to her, but she'd been too weak – and if she was honest with herself, too unwilling – to even begin to make any effort with him. Matthew had left to go back east a few days afterwards, and not in the best of terms with their mother, and Sara couldn't say she was sad to see the back of him.

She could feel Grissom's eyes on her but he kept quiet and Sara was grateful for that. The mood had been soured enough without talks of her brother. The aide bent down to release the brakes on the chair and was taking her place at the handles when Grissom cut in.

"I'll take Sara back myself," he told her, "If you don't mind."

The aide stepped aside with a nod. "Don't be long," she said, with a meaningful look at Sara.

"We won't. Thank you," Grissom said. The aide turned away, headed back inside and he leaned down, whispering in Sara's ear, "I'll take you back the long way, okay? Make the most of today."

He gathered Hank's leash which he looped around the chair's handle and began pushing Sara down the path with Hank trotting obediently alongside them. Sadly, the long way was hardly long enough for Sara and soon they found themselves back indoors.

"Do you still want me to call Jim?" he asked as they crossed the lobby.

"Visiting hours are over," she said glumly.

"I'm sure they'll break the rules just this once," he said in a mischievous whisper as he leaned close to her ear.

Sara couldn't help the ensuing giggle. "You could put a code three to this location."

"Now _that_ would be breaking the rules," he replied in a chuckle.

"Tell me about him, Gil," she said. "Are we his family too?" Her voice came out as a whisper.

Grissom remained silent for a long moment and Sara wasn't sure he'd understood her. "I don't know," he finally replied. "His parents have passed; he's divorced – has been for longer than I've known him – but he's got a daughter, Ellie. They're estranged," he added after a while. "So yeah, I'd say we were his family too."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: The previous chapter was written from Sara's perspective, hence the non-impaired speech when she spoke because that's how she hears it in her head. Her speech is still slow and slurred to everybody else though, but improving, I promise!

* * *

><p>"Gil!"<p>

Jolted out of his musings Grissom whipped his head round to the locker room door, his heart sinking at finding a smiling Ecklie leaning against the doorjamb. He had made sure he'd timed his visit to the lab so as not to see anyone from the nightshift, but sadly hadn't accounted for Ecklie being out of his office.

"What a pleasant surprise!" The lab director's eyes flicked to Grissom's plastered arm, the smile fading from his lips. "I know we're short-staffed but….you're not clocking in, are you?"

Grissom's returning upturn of lip was cynical. "Worried I'd be breaching health and safety regulations, are you?

"No, no," Ecklie was quick to deny, badly hiding his discomfort behind a chuckle, "Not at all."

Nodding absently, Grissom turned back toward the bank of lockers he'd been staring at and after reaching in his pocket for the key opened Sara's. Feeling Ecklie's eyes on him, he paused with a sigh and turned back toward his boss. "I was―I came to clear Sara's things out of her locker, hand in her gun and badge."

Ecklie's brow shot up in surprise. He scanned his gaze up and down the corridor and then swayed on his feet uncertainly for an instant before taking a step inside the room. "Listen, Gil, there's no rush. You don't have to do this now. I mean…"

"She's not coming back, Conrad," Grissom cut in. There was sadness and resignation in his voice, but anger too. He checked himself. "Whether I'm doing this now or later won't make a difference."

His eyes lowering Ecklie nodded his head in understanding. Grissom turned back, reaching at the back of the locker's top shelf for the box Sara kept her gun in. He closed his eyes, took a breath and with no more hesitation pulled the box out, slowly removing the gun from it and then putting the box back. He checked the gun was made safe, then reached into the breast pocket of his shirt for her badge, his heart tightening in his chest as he handed them to his boss. Ecklie's hands slid out of his pockets reaching out, but then stopped mid-movement.

"She won't be needing them again," Grissom said, his eyes averting briefly to hide the pain and heartache his words and actions caused.

Nodding, Ecklie reluctantly took Sara's possessions from him. "What about you, Gil?" he asked quietly. Grissom looked up, meeting Ecklie's eye uncertainly. "When are you coming back? You _are_ coming back, aren't you?"

The question took Grissom by surprise. If the truth be told he hadn't thought that far ahead. His brow lifting he took a breath, thinking his answer over, and then shrugged. "I don't know. I honestly don't know." He raised his broken arm in the air. "I got another couple of weeks of that and then…" his sentence drifted off with another shrug.

Ecklie let out a breath. "Don't rush your decision. If we can work something out, reduced hours so they fit Sara's routine, lab work while your injuries sort themselves out…" he shrugged, "Even a leave of absence while she recovers. We don't want to lose you, Gil. Catherine's doing a good job, but-"

"But she's understaffed by two," Grissom cut in tersely, pre-empting where Ecklie was going with his train of thought.

Ecklie's smile stiffened and he nodded. He averted his eyes briefly, his lips pinching uncomfortably and Grissom returned his attention to Sara's locker, guessing at the lab director imminent departure. Ecklie hovered hesitantly for a moment and then asked, "And Sara, how is she doing?"

Grissom's head snapped round with surprise, the caring tone in his boss's question giving him pause. "She's…doing brilliantly."

"I'm glad to hear it," Ecklie said, genuinely sounding it. He closed the distance, his hand lifting to Grissom's shoulder and clasping it awkwardly. "If there's anything I can do to help…anything at all, I'll be happy to."

Taken aback by Ecklie's candour Grissom flashed a brief, uneasy smile and nodded. "Thanks, but we're okay."

Ecklie's hand lowered. "How long until she can come home?"

"They're not sure – not for a few months, anyway." He shrugged. "Generally any marked progress is felt within the first six months, but…" he sighed, "they don't really know."

Ecklie nodded. He was going to add something else but bit his lip. "All right," he said instead, making to leave, "Pass on my best wishes to Sara, will you? And tell her that the lab misses her." He paused. "_We_ miss her."

Swallowing the lump in his throat Grissom could only stare back at his boss, speechless.

Ecklie smiled, and with one last nod of his head turned on his heels, headed out. He stopped at the door. "I'm sorry to hear about the boy," he said, turning back toward Grissom. "I gather-" The ringing of his cell cut him off mid-sentence. With a sigh and a look of annoyance he fished the phone out of his suit jacket pocket and checked the display.

Grissom's frown was deep and confused, but before he could ask his boss who and what he meant by his words Ecklie looked up, saying in another sigh, "It's the sheriff. I've got to take this, Gil. I'm sorry."

Grissom nodded then watched as leaving Ecklie connected the call. His gaze averted back toward Sara's locker and with a heavy heart he began clearing out her personal belongings, neatly transferring them into the gym bag he'd brought along. By the time he finished only her CSI vest hung on a hanger and he pulled it off, staring unseeingly at the nametag attached to it. Without thought he began emptying the pockets out of their content, neatly placing an assortment of latex gloves, bindles and evidence bags on the bench behind him.

The finality of his actions suddenly took hold, breaking his heart all over again, and he paused abruptly. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he franticly began putting back in the vest's pockets every single item he'd removed. Criminalistics had been such an all-encompassing part of Sara's life, still was to a certain degree if he was to believe her immediate attachment to the CSI doll Hodges had made of her, for her. Sara was so proud of who she was, of her place in life, of what she'd achieved, and in a flash, in a senseless moment of madness by a sick, twisted and evil woman she had lost it all.

She put on such a brave face, never once complaining to him, the occasional trembling of her smile, the downcast shadows and tears clouding her chocolate eyes the only outward signs of her pain. God, he was so very proud of her. Unable to carry on he brought the vest to his face and racked with dry sobs slumped down onto the bench, scrunching his eyes shut at the wave of memories twisting his core.

"_Sara, I need you to stay." His eyes lowered to the cup of coffee in front of him, before quickly glancing back up. He lifted an awkward shoulder. "I need you in my team."_

"_Oh, I don't know, Grissom," she replied quickly, her tone of voice echoing the sadness in his._

"_The lab needs you," he argued, afraid she was going to turn down point-blank his offer to stay in Vegas._

_Sara's smile pinched as she stared at him. She sighed, her gaze averting to the cup in her hand. Slowly she put it down, picked up the spoon and began stirring._

_Grissom watched her, a puzzled look on his face. "I didn't think you took sugar. I-"_

"_I don't." Her gaze flicked up and she flashed him an uneasy smile. "I don't think they liked me much." Her eyes lowered, her shoulder rising. "I mean I came here to do a job and-"_

_He reached across the table for her hand holding the spoon, stopping her continuous stirring and her mid-sentence. She looked up and he met her eyes with a shy smile. "Sara, I need you here in Vegas." His sudden forthrightness made him uncomfortable and slowly withdrawing his hand he shied away from her probing stare. "At least don't dismiss the idea out of hand," he added, once again adopting his professional and somewhat detached tone. His gaze flicked back up to her uncertainly. "I know you got your work, your friends and responsibilities back in San Francisco, but we really could do with a criminalist of your calibre here in Vegas."_

_Her smile was on the self-conscious side. "I don't…have_ _any friends back in San Francisco," she said in a quiet voice, holding his gaze._

_His eyes were as soft as the smile on his lips and without thinking he once again reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he said, "Then stay."_

When he had no more tears to cry he lowered the vest, staring once again at her name on the tag. "Sidle," he read aloud, his thumb slowly brushing over the stitched letters, a smile forming on his lips as an idea began to take shape in his mind.

Footsteps echoed outside and Grissom turned toward the sound, quickly wiping his eyes. The footsteps carried on past and blowing out a breath of relief he checked his watch, thinking that he needed to hurry if he wanted to have everything ready before the guys arrived. Telling Brass had been straightforward enough, but Sara was right: telling the guys and Greg in particular would be harder.

"Come on, buddy," he told himself, rising to his feet and carefully folding Sara's vest over the top of the bag, "Sara's counting on you. Don't let her down."

* * *

><p>The voicemail had been short and to the point, as they always tended to be with Grissom, but there had been a kind of urgency to his boss's message that worried Greg. At first he'd wondered if Grissom wanted to apologise for the way he'd spoken to him the other day, but now he wasn't so sure. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't hear Nick call him.<p>

"Greg, wait up," Nick repeated as he stepped through the threshold of Torrey Pines Rehabilitation Centre.

Greg paused, turning a puzzled frown toward Nick. "You too?" he asked, a trace of disappointment in his tone.

Nick hummed his reply. "Rick's right behind me."

Greg pulled a face and sighed. "Ah, well, no apology for me then," he said glumly as they made their way to the reception desk to sign in. "I mean his reaction was pretty extreme. Warning me off like that when all I did was make Sara laugh…" His words trailed off just as Warrick joined them.

"An apology? From Grissom?" Nick gave a wry chuckle. "I wouldn't count on it."

Frowning Warrick wrapped his arms over Nick's and Greg's shoulders respectively. "Come on, man," he told Nick quietly, "Now's the time to let old dogs lie."

"So, what's your theory on this, Mr Wiseguy?" Nick asked. "Why do you think we've been summoned like that?"

"Beats me," Warrick said darkly, "But Grissom sure was insistent."

The three men signed in, then made their way to Sara's room.

"Why the long face?" Greg asked Warrick as they rounded the corner to her corridor. "You don't think anything's wrong with Sara, do you? I mean…" he shrugged sadly, his "apart from the obvious," remaining unsaid. Warrick lifted an ambivalent shoulder at Greg, causing the young CSI to stop dead in his tracks. "Warrick?"

Nick stopped walking, he too staring quizzically at his colleague.

Warrick let out a long breath and stopped, turning toward his friends. "I don't know. Something's off, that's for sure."

"How do you mean?" Nick asked.

"You know the other night when I went to see Grissom; well, he opened up to me a little and he was worried about Sara. He thought there was something she wasn't telling him, that there were changes in her that...puzzled him. He was very downcast about it, almost upset."

"We've all noticed she's changed," Greg said, in an uneasy scoff. He glanced down the corridor and lowered his voice. "It's to be expected, isn't it?"

Warrick shrugged his reply.

"Come on," Nick said as he started walking again. "Let's get it over with."

They stopped at the door, shared an uncertain look and after knocking Greg let them in. He popped his head round the door, his face breaking into wide smile on finding Sara's eyes on him. The smile died on his lips, his gut clenching with foreboding at the mixture of sadness and fearfulness he saw in her gaze.

"It's too late to hide," Warrick called loudly in an easy chuckle. "Besides we already know all about the naps."

A hand fell on Greg's shoulder, nudging him forward as Nick and Warrick unceremoniously pushed their way past him into the room. Grissom who had been reading to Sara looked up with a smile and closed the book.

"You look good, girl," Warrick enthused brightly as he strode to Sara's side. He leaned down to buss her on the cheek. "There's something new there," he said musingly, waving his hand about his face as he pulled back, "you got a haircut or something?"

Sara gave a giggle of delight at his teasing. "Youlikem?"

"I do," Warrick replied solemnly. He winked. "They give you this…geeky look you didn't have before."

Sara giggled again, her mouth pursing to the side in mock-offence.

"He means classy, Sara," Nick piped up in good-humour, pushing past Warrick to embrace his friend. "How are you doing, sweetie?" He pulled back and grinned at her. "Warrick wasn't lying, you do look good."

"Better, youmean," she said, smiling pleasurably.

Grissom got up, putting his book down on the chair he'd vacated and looking over the top of his glasses glanced at Greg hovering hesitantly behind his two colleagues. "We took a trip outside yesterday," he explained.

"Yeah?" Warrick said with surprise.

"So, the glasses, are they a permanent feature now?" Nick asked.

Sara didn't reply. She was watching Greg, a sad, mournful look about her face now. The young CSI schooled his features into a tentative smile and eased his way through his friends to her side. Nick and Warrick had fallen silent and he could feel their puzzled stares on him.

"Hi, Sara," he said, trying to inject a little brightness into his voice but failing miserably.

She gave him that new crooked, gap-toothed smile of hers but it quavered and he blinked at the sudden tears stinging the back of his eyelids. She exchanged a brief yet fearful look with Grissom who smiling at her picked up her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

Greg's eyes flickered between Grissom and Sara uncertainly. "What's wrong?" he asked tensely, his voice a barely audible whisper.

Grissom licked his lips, then glanced at the others uncertainly before refocusing his eyes on Greg. He made a fist with his right hand, his fingers clenching nervously. "Listen, Greg, the other day…I'm sorry I overreacted like that. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did."

Grissom's apology instead of making him feel better had the opposite effect. "It's okay," he said quickly, almost dismissively, narrowed eyes probing his boss for the real reason behind the visit.

Grissom held his gaze, nodding his acknowledgement, then looked at Sara, who simply gave him a nod of the head.

"Griss, why are we here?" Warrick asked gravely, breaking the awkward silence. "I mean…I can't help thinking this isn't just a social call."

"Msorry," Sara said, her eyes filling suddenly.

"Honey, it's okay," Grissom said softly. He reached across with his free hand and wiped away the lonely tear coursing down her cheek. "They'll understand."

"Understand what?" Nick asked with concern.

Grissom took a breath, forcing a smile as he refocused on the three of them. He opened his mouth but then let out a long breath. "Sara has-"

"Ive – lost – mymemry," Sara cut in in a small voice, holding Greg's gaze.

Greg flicked stunned eyes up to Grissom. The latter nodded his head, his shoulder lifting helplessly. "We're only just getting our heads round it but it would seem that the…trauma caused some amnesia," he blinked and swallowed, and then cleared the tightness in his throat, "and that Sara doesn't remember the last eight years or so of her life."

The room fell silent in astonishment until Greg said in a fraught gasp, "I don't understand." His head shook uncertainly. "You don't remember me at all?" He glanced toward Warrick and Nick. "You don't remember any of us at all? CSI?"

Sara swallowed and shook her head forlornly. More tears fell. "Msorry."

Greg's hand came up and he rubbed his face. Sara had been his best friend and mentor for many years, his confidante too, and more, and the thought that she didn't remember any of it did more than break his heart. He felt tears rise again and turned away.

"What did the doctors say?" Nick asked, ever the pragmatic. "Is it only a matter of time before it comes back?"

"They don't know," Grissom replied. "We hope so, and Sara seems to be remembering odd snippets of things, but it's disjointed." He took a breath. "Listen, it's a very hard thing for me – for_us_ – to come to terms with, but you've got to know that Sara didn't deliberately try to keep us in the dark. She's having to come to terms with a lot of changes in her life and…" He faltered, the words catching and he cleared his throat.

Greg turned round, meeting Sara's gaze dead on. He could see his heartbreak mirrored in her eyes behind her new glasses. Grissom was watching him too; his shoulder lifted uncertainly, almost apologetically as his hand tightened around Sara's.

"Greg – msorry," Sara said again, her eyes shiny with tears, but Greg was stunned into silence.

Warrick's hand came up to his shoulder, clasping warmly. "Come on, Greg," he said, with fake cheerfulness, "think of the opportunities that present themselves to you, man." He threw Sara a wink. "For years you've been trying to get her to go on a date with you. Now you get to wipe the slate clean and start over."

"That's right," Nick piped in. "So, I say, young Greggo here gets the first date. I get the second."

"It's okay," Warrick said in a modest chuckle, "I'm a married man now; I don't go on dates."

"Idlike – that," Sara said, a tentative smile pulling at her lips as she stared at Greg.

She met Warrick and Nick's eyes gratefully, then her expression became serious and she gave Grissom a glance and a nod. Nodding back he reached under the bed for a metal CSI field case Greg immediately recognised as Sara's. His brow furrowed and he watched warily as Grissom hoisted it up with his left hand before carefully setting it down on the bed. Grissom looked at Sara and when she nodded at him reluctantly held it across the bed to him.

"I want you to have this," she said very slowly, surprisingly clearly, each word coming out in a gasp. She paused and took a breath, her lips pinching nervously.

Greg blinked, his tears spilling uncontrollably. He stared at the case for a long time before bringing his gaze back up to Sara and shaking his head. "I can't take this," he said. "I'm sorry Sara, but I can't. It would mean that you're not coming back, that…" Sara's eyes turned sorrowful causing the words to die on his lips.

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, but Sara silenced him with a shake of the head. "Skay," she told him. She took a breath and blinked, keeping her eyes on Greg all the while. "Ineedyouto-" she paused abruptly and closed her eyes, her frustration at her inability to talk clearly visible.

Grissom's hand moved to her shoulder and he stroked it supportively. "Take your time," he told her. "Remember what Paula said."

Sara nodded; her eyes reopened, once again focusing on Greg. She tried a smile. "Wantyou – to – useit," she said, her lip quavering. "So youkeep – mymemry – alive. At CSI."

Greg could see in Sara's eyes that she meant her words and he knew he had to go past his own pain and do this for her. Sniffing, he wiped his tear-streaked face on the cuff of his jacket and reached out a trembling hand toward the kit.

"For me," Sara finished in a slow halting voice.

Greg gave her a solemn nod of the head. "I would love to be able to do that for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "But only until you come back." He blinked back more tears, a slow tentative smile spreading across his features. Closing the distance to the bed he reached across and gave Sara a warm and lengthy hug. "I'll take good care of it, Sar, I promise," he said in her ear. "I'll make you proud."

"Malreadyproud."

Nodding, Greg squeezed her tighter to him. "I'm sorry about before," he said. "It just came as a shock, that's all." He felt a hand on his shoulder and pulled back, mustering a shaky grin through his tears. Sara held his gaze, and catching a glimpse of the old Sara there filled his heart with hope.

"I got so much gossip, you wouldn't believe," he went on after a beat, wiping at his eyes, his usual cheerful spirit once again shining forth, "And some new music." He paused abruptly and fixed a smug smile on Grissom. "She doesn't remember you either, right?"

"So, who's in for a game of Clue?" Nick cut in with a fake cough before Grissom could react.

"Me," Sara said, laughing pleasurably. "Mready – tokick – yourasses."

"What was that?" Warrick asked, but Sara pulled her tongue out at him and he laughed.

Frowning Grissom gave his head a shake. "I'll pass."

"Oh, no, you don't," Nick and Warrick said in unison.

"Theyright," Sara said. "Youwithme."


	19. Chapter 19

Grissom was stripping the sheets off the bed when Lindsey's alarm went off at seven as it had done every weekday since he'd moved in ten days previously. Some R&B cover of a Police track came on and he paused, a wide smile breaking across his face as he thought of Sara. Today was going to be another good day, he could feel it.

Sara was settling in well at the Centre, adapting to her new routines, putting all her spirit and determination into her rehabilitation. With the daily massages and physiotherapy she was undergoing, feelings to most of her upper body had returned and with it a little movement – albeit jerky, restricted and sadly still uncontrolled. Her left side was much slower to catch up though, in every aspect, as were her legs, but Sara wasn't letting it get her down, preferring instead to concentrate on learning to sit up and _stay_ up without support, no mean feat in itself.

"Like a baby," she'd told him, giddy with laughter as she'd once again gently plopped backwards onto the pillows, "I've got to learn everything again." His ensuing chuckle had been on the uneasy side but as he'd stared at the raised bedrails keeping her safe he couldn't help thinking that, sadly, the joke was too close to home for comfort.

But today was special. Today, Sara was allowed oral food for the first time. Not much, but enough to give her a taste and a starting point toward eventual complete transition to oral feeding and removal of the G-tube. The look on her face, the joyful glint in her eyes as she'd been told her throat and mouth muscles were coordinated enough to safely try without risks of aspiration had filled his heart with love and happiness. The choices were limited though, but with Paula's and the dietician's agreements he had it all planned; he knew exactly what _he_ would be feeding her, and it wouldn't be the first time either. He couldn't wait.

Hank whimpered by his side and he gave his head a shake, returning to the moment. "I'm almost done," he told the boxer, as he threw the last pillowcase onto the pile by the door before finishing getting ready.

Catherine beat them to the kitchen. The table was set for three, tall glasses of orange juice filled almost to the brim and triangles of toast cooling in a basket. Wearing sweat pants and her hair back in a makeshift bun she stood at the stove, quietly humming along to a tune playing on the radio.

"You didn't have to get up for me," he said jovially, making her jump.

"I didn't." She turned and smiled, then remarked with a frown, "Sara's got you well-trained, I see."

He looked down to the balled-up dirty linen under his arm. "My mother," he replied, matter-of-fact, a fond smile forming in recollection. "When I was growing up every Saturday without fail I would come down for breakfast with my ball of sheets." He paused, losing himself in the memory.

"What, no sheets no breakfast?" she teased in a chuckle before muttering to herself as she returned her attention to her cooking, "Maybe I ought to try it with Linds."

He pulled a face at her behind her back, then made his way to the laundry room, and noticing the washer in full spin cycle dumped his load in front of it, ready for later.

"How do you want your eggs?" she asked when he came back into the room, Hank still close on his heels.

He moved to the back door and unlocked it, letting Hank out. "My eggs?"

She waved her spatula toward the skillet full of egg mixture simmering on the cooker.

"Poached?" he ventured with a playful smirk.

"Scrambled it is then."

He pursed his face at her in good-humour, saying with disbelief as he took a seat at the table, "I still can't believe Ecklie dusted off his kit like that, and just to give you the night off."

"You and me both." She burst out in warm laughter, "You should have seen the look on the guys' faces when I told them." Moving to the door she gave Lindsey a shout to come down for breakfast, saying as she returned to her eggs, "What are the odds that he's made a dent on the paperwork piling on my desk, huh? I honestly don't know how you…" she stopped dead in her tracks and gathered three plates, transferring the eggs onto them.

"How I what?" he asked after a moment.

She turned, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "How you manage it all," she said at last in a quiet voice, her shoulders rising. "You know, be in the field as much as you are, while keeping on top of the paperwork," her lips suddenly pulled into a wicked smile, "without forgetting of course the very secret, very forbidden work romance you managed for so long." She picked up the plates, placing them on the table as she once again called for Lindsey.

"Not very well," he said after a beat, his tone on the sad, forlorn side.

"I'm sorry."

He looked up and met her eye. "What for?"

She gave him a small smile and sat down across from him. "I told myself I wouldn't do that. You know…" her words drifted off with a shrug.

"She's alive, Catherine, and doing well. That's all that matters to me at the moment. At long last we can start looking to the future again. Talking of which," he paused and lowered his eyes hesitantly, "I'm―I've decided to move back home."

"So soon?"

"It's time," he said, glancing up. "Hank and I have imposed long enough."

"Oh, Gil, you never were an imposition."

"Regardless. You―I couldn't have done it without your help. Thank you."

Her hand slid across the table, covering his while she held his gaze meaningfully. He nodded, smiling his understanding, his hand turning under hers and clasping it warmly. "I'm going to miss you," she then said a little hoarsely as she squeezed his hand back, "and so will Lindsey. You've been a good influence on her. Since Eddie died-" Her words trailed off with a sigh.

"She's a good kid, Catherine," he said, "You're doing a great job with her."

"You think so?" she asked, her face brightening up with surprise at the compliment.

He gave her a vigorous nod of the head, the ghost of a smile forming as he teased, "But what do I know about teenage kids, huh?"

She swatted his hand away, feigning offence. "I couldn't do it without Lily, or my sister."

His face clouded in discomfort. He picked up the glass of juice and brought it to his lips. "About Lily," he said. He let out a breath and met her gaze dead on, unsure how best to broach the tricky and often sore subject of Sam Braun.

"Oh, don't worry," she said in a chuckle, visibly reading his dilemma, "I know all about Lily seeing Sam behind my back. She never was able to hide anything from me. But what can I do? Ground her?" She laughed. "I appreciate you wanting to give me the heads-up though."

"You're my friend, Catherine, and friends don't hide things from each other."

Catherine's brow lifted, and she burst out laughing. "What, like you did with Sara?"

A wide and very satisfied grin broke across his face, but he granted her point with a nod. "Still, I should have tried to tell you about Lily and Sam as soon as I found out."

Catherine's face darkened at his words, the smile fading from her lips but before he could ask her what was wrong her gaze flicked away from him toward the door. "About time, missy," she said tersely.

"Sorry," Lindsey said as she slumped down on the chair next him, cutting short their little tête-à-tête, "I had homework to finish."

She grabbed a piece of toast and took a bite from it before reaching for her glass of juice, and with a disparaging shake of the head at her daughter's manners Catherine indicated that he should do the same. With the ghost of a smile on his lips Grissom picked up his fork and began cutting into his eggs, thinking that strangely enough he would miss the highs and lows of living in a house full of women.

"You could always stay a little longer," Catherine said, her tone hopeful, visibly reading his mind.

"Thank you, but no," he said, adament.

They were about finished when he wiped his mouth and said, "Listen, Lindsey, I was thinking… Sara's doing better and I thought that maybe…how about I come and pick you up from school tomorrow and we go visit her together?" He glanced toward Catherine. "If it's okay with your mom, of course."

Lindsey turned an eager face toward her mother. "Please, mom?"

"Are you sure?" Catherine asked him, ignoring her daughter's plea. "I mean, it can't be easy for Sara, you know, meeting new people with everything that's going on," she finished lamely.

He smiled, touched by her concern. "Actually she asked after her. I think she hopes that something or someone will eventually trigger her memory, or at least some small recollection."

"Please, mom," Lindsey pleaded again, making her face into a pout.

Her eyes flicking to her daughter Catherine gave a throaty laugh. "Sure. If it's okay with Sara, why not?"

* * *

><p>"Sara," Grissom said breathlessly as he leaned onto the reception counter at Torrey Pines, "She's not in her room."<p>

The desk clerk looked up. "Sara?"

"Sara Sidle," Grissom said quickly, all sorts of scenarios flashing through his head already, "Room 109. I can't find her."

Her brow creasing with puzzlement the clerk turned toward her computer, tapped a few keys, then a few others. Despite the small voice in the back of his head telling him to stop panicking, Grissom's heart kept on pounding wildly in his chest. "Ah," she said at last, a smile spreading across her face as she looked up from her screen, "I believe she's in the pool."

"In the pool?" he exclaimed with surprise.

"That's what it says here."

He gave his head a shake. "Are you sure?"

She gave him a confident nod. "By the looks of it there was a last minute cancellation."

Grissom's eyes narrowed; he looked down at the small cool box he was clutching and let out a sigh.

"You okay?" the clerk asked with concern.

His gaze snapped up. "Do you know where I can find a freezer?"

"A freezer?" she repeated in bewilderment.

"The ice compartment in a fridge would work too." When the clerk gave him an uncertain shake of the head Grissom lifted the cool box and set it down on the counter in front of her. "Only I brought Sara a surprise, and it's spoiling."

The woman's face softened with a smile. "Sure. I can put it in the staffroom fridge – it's got an ice compartment."

"Thank you." He gave the box a final glance, then made to leave but at a loss as to where to go, paused.

"You know," the clerk said, "They're going to be a while. Do you want me to pass on a message?"

"It's okay; I'll just wait."

She smiled. "If you'd like…there's a viewing area there, and you could watch while you wa…"

Grissom never heard the end of her sentence. He just turned on his heels, eagerly following the signs to the Aquatic Therapy Pool. He'd read all about aquatic therapy, of course, and of its many advantages, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

The _Pool_ was in fact a series of eight rectangular pools of varying sizes and equipment. All were in use, waist deep, and fitted with lifts, stairs and handrails. One man was even using an underwater treadmill. He saw Sara straightaway, in the third pool from the left. She lay on her back in the water, floating and laughing, and despite the plate glass separating him from the pool he could hear her laughter as clearly as if he stood by her side.

It was Marcy and a male assistant in the water with her though, and not him, and the thought made him sad. Mesmerised, he leaned his forearm against the windowpane, watching with tears in his eyes and a trembling smile on his face the interaction between the three as various parts of Sara's body were gently exercised. He was surprised to see that Sara wore her own shorts and T-shirt under the lifejacket-style buoyancy aid that kept her upper body afloat and her head out of the water.

After ten minutes or so, they finished and Marcy guided Sara to the poolside and onto the pool chairlift her assistant had just lowered. She had a few words to Sara, then strapped her into the chair and gestured to her assistant to operate the lift. Sara was emerging out of the water when looking up she caught sight of him. Her smile widened giddily and their eyes locked, and he could only grin back at her, happy tears spilling as he raised his hand in a small wave.

The chair did a 180 degree turn onto the poolside, rotating Sara away from him, breaking their eye contact. Sara began to shiver and Marcy draped a towel around her. Again he felt a pang of sadness at the thought that he wasn't the one there with her, taking care of her. He felt an instinctive urge to wrap his arms around her and protect her, an instinctive urge to keep her warm and out of harm's way. As she was being transferred onto the wheelchair Sara turned her head toward him, seeking him from the corner of her eyes, her smile still as bright and excited as it had been a moment ago.

He was watching Sara being pushed away when Marcy joined his side through a connecting door. "Mr Grissom," she said, smiling when he whipped his head round towards her with a start. She greeted a few of the people waiting like him for their loved ones with nods and friendly smiles before patting her face dry with a towel. "I'm sorry we're running late again."

"Oh, it's okay; I enjoyed watching." A smile spread across his features. "I hadn't seen her this…happy for a long time."

"The pool's wonderful, isn't it? I like to bring my patients here as soon as I can. It's so freeing for them, so lifting both physically and emotionally."

"You don't think it's a little early?" he asked cautiously.

Marcy smiled. "I wouldn't have brought her here if I didn't think she was ready. And it's very _safe_," she added meaningfully.

Grissom gave her a nod of his head. "Sara's always loved the water," he said musingly, his eyes on the door Sara had disappeared through.

Marcy's hand moved to his shoulder. "She still does," she said, matter-of-fact.

He refocused his gaze and smiled, nodding. "What more can I do to help her? I mean, is there any way I can be part of…her therapy?"

"You wanted to be in the pool with her, didn't you?"

"And share in her happiness?" He laughed to hide his discomfort at the candour of his words, but nodded his head nevertheless. "Yes, I did."

"Well, nothing's stopping you." Marcy's hand moved to his shoulder, her eyes flicking to the pools. "See that woman over there in the first pool on the right with the teenage girl?"

His gaze narrowing he followed with his eyes where Marcy was pointing.

"Well, that's the girl's mother, and she's no therapist. Twice a week, she comes to help out and play." She paused and when he turned toward her glanced down at his arm, asking, "How much longer?"

"Another week."

"Well, a week on Friday, bring your shorts and a T-shirt, and you can be Phil."

"Phil?"

"My assistant. I'm sure Sara would much rather have your strong arms holding her up rather than his."

His face lit up in excitement and he laughed. "I look forward to it."

Patting his shoulder, she made to leave.

"Any changes?" he asked suddenly.

Marcy's smile was bright and very knowing. She tapped the side of her nose. "I promised not to tell."

"Her arm?" he asked with wonderment.

She gave him a non-committal shrug in reply, but the grin stayed on. "Patient/doctor confidentiality," she said while giving him a gleeful nod of the head, adding brightly, "You didn't hear it from me."

Laughing he drew a small cross over his heart.

"And remember to act surprised."

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

She gave him a nod. "You know, it's going to be a good half-hour until she's ready to come out. Why don't you go and get something to celebrate? It's a good day for Sara."

"Oh, I've already got her the perfect thing. I'll wait for her here; it's no trouble." He frowned, then felt his pocket for a handkerchief and satisfied that he had one said, "Actually, I won't. Tell her to hurry and that I'll be waiting in her room."


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Sorry I haven't replied to some of the reviews you left for the previous chapter (internet access is scarce at the moment), but I hope you all know by now how much they mean to me and how crucial they are to the development of the story.

Yet another chapter that got away from me, and I don't seem to be able to move on to the next one until this one is posted, so here it is. Chapter 20 of a sequel that is still only in the beginning stages and was only meant to be a short one; go figure.

Thanks again for reading, those of you who still are; I just hope you keep on enjoying the story.

* * *

><p>Sara made it back to her room with a heavy heart. The sadness and melancholy she'd glimpsed in Grissom's eyes as he'd watched her in the pool had somewhat dampened her initial excitement about her news. So, she could lift her arm; big deal. What about the rest of her, huh?<p>

She knew she'd never be the same as before, physically anyway, and that any progress she made would be slow and limited, but what if despite her best effort it was never enough? Would he grow frustrated with her, with his life, their life as a couple when he realised that_ this_ was it? Would she become a burden to him then? Was she one already?

The orderly quietly inserted the key card into the lock, opening the door wide. There he was, sat on a chair near the window reading the newspaper, oblivious to her arrival. He looked troubled, pensive. The orderly pushed her fully inside the room, catching the wheel of the chair on the doorframe as he did so.

"Hey," she said softly, when he looked up with a start.

His face immediately softened with a smile. "I was beginning to think you'd stood me up," he said, flicking his gaze up beyond her and acknowledging the orderly with a nod.

"And what, miss my surprise?"

The orderly leaned down, asking her whether she needed anything else from him, and when she gave him a nod, left them with a parting smile.

Grissom casually folded his newspaper, placing it on the table, waiting for the door to close to look up and say, "I don't know anything about a surprise." His lips twitching with mischief he got up, closed the distance to her and leaning down greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

Sara smiled with a lighter heart.

"You tired?"

"No, but I'm hungry."

"All that swimming, huh?" he teased.

"Oh, Gil, it was…the most amazing feeling." She paused briefly, her grin full of delight, then went on to tell him in an excited spiel how light, mobile and free she'd felt in the water, how she'd felt like a different person, almost like her old self, and how Marcy had said that from now on they'd do pool therapy twice a week.

"Oh, honey, it's wonderful," he said when she'd finished. He looked down to the floor a little self-consciously, then crouched down in front of her with his hands on the arms of the chair and met her gaze hesitantly. "How would you feel if I tagged along to the pool, you know, on a regular basis?"

"To watch?"

He lifted his shoulder, his gaze once again averting but not before she noticed that same look again. It wasn't sadness as she'd first thought, but wistful longing. "To help," he said at last, with a small rueful smile. "I mean, you were so happy and I…I wanted to be there with you. I wanted to share that moment with you."

She felt tears of relief prickle the back of her eyes but she held them in. "I wanted you to be there too," she said, her lips quavering. A wide smile broke across her face unexpectedly. "You can be Gil, my assistant."

He burst out laughing. "_Your_ assistant?"

She formed her face in mock-offended pout. "What, you don't think you can handle me?"

"Handle you?"

"I can be a handful," she teased.

"Oh, that I know," he said in a chuckle, holding her gaze, grinning broadly. "I look forward to the challenge."

They stared at each other for a moment and the love she saw in his eyes melted the last of her fears away. "So, what is it?" she asked, scanning the room. "Soup? Mush? Pureed goo?"

He laughed, a satisfied grin playing around the edges of his mouth as he shook his head. "But let me tell you now you _love_ my soup." He lifted a self-conscious shoulder, his smile fading. "Maybe I could make some and bring it here when you're allowed. It was my-"

"Mother's recipe," she said in an incredulous gasp, a look of wonderment crossing her face.

His eyes round with delight he acquiesced with a slow nod. "How…?"

"I don't know," she said, puzzled. "I just do."

"It doesn't matter anyway," he said brightly. "What matters is that it's coming back to you. Which reminds me; Lindsey would love to come and visit tomorrow. You still up for it?"

She nodded absently, her eyes suddenly widening in realisation. "Ice cream…" she said with gleeful anticipation. Her eyes lifted to his, seeking confirmation.

He gave her a wink. "I want to hear all about your news first."

She dropped her gaze, saying quietly, "It's not much."

Her change of mood gave him pause and he sighed. "That's not what I heard." Giving the back of his leg a rub he straightened up, then pulled a chair across to sit on, picked up her right hand and tilting his head to the side made eye contact. His tenderness and devotion brought tears to her eyes. "All _right_," he said, conciliatory, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

Sara let out a snort of amusement, the corner of her mouth grudgingly curling up into a smile. She shrugged. "It's not as much as I would like."

"Oh, Sara," he said in a sigh, reaching across and framing her face with his hands. "You've got to give yourself and your body time. Look how much progress you've made already. The rest will come in time, I know it." He paused and smiled, his shoulder lifting in a helpless manner.

"Not soon enough."

"I know, sweetheart," he said lovingly, his thumbs sliding across her cheeks, "but you're going to have to be patient. I'm―I'm blown away, Sara, and very proud of you." He reached over and kissed her softly on the mouth. "Come on," he coaxed gently, a smile breaking as he pulled back, "no more thoughts of not being good enough, okay?"

She stared at him for a long time, then took a long breath and nodded. She looked down to the right side of her body, her brow creasing in the middle in that familiar, very much loved way it was wont to do when she was deep in concentration. She couldn't quite move or straighten her arm yet, but by raising her shoulder she was able to lift it in a controlled 45 degree angle. She glanced up to him, a wary, expectant look on her face.

His eyes shining with tears he reached a trembling hand to her arm and stroked his fingertips down its length to her hand before gently straightening and turning it over. He brought his gaze up to hers and swallowed, his lips pinching, his eyes closing as he brought her hand to his lips, his cheek, cradling it. He took a breath, then another and she could tell he was struggling not to let his emotion overwhelm him.

Oh, how she wish she could return his touch. "You turn now," she said, a tender smile to her lips. "You show me yours."

Bursting into a spluttering laugh he opened his eyes. "A deal's a deal," he said, lowering her hand back to her lap and wiping his eyes.

He got up, his hand lowering to his belt as though making to undo the buckle, and Sara's grin and eyes widened in astonishment. At the last moment he reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded handkerchief which he shook out. He brought his eyes to hers and winked. Sara's face pursed at his teasing, her eyes narrowing questioningly. He lifted his index finger at her, indicating that he was almost ready, then laid out the handkerchief on the table and she watched with puzzlement as he proceeded to fold it into a blindfold.

Her heart began racing with anticipation as she realised what he was doing. She looked up from his hands, meeting his playful gaze with an excited one of her own. Holding her gaze he moved behind her, wheeling her closer to the table.

"Do you trust me?" he asked in a tingling whisper.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she nodded, her "with my heart," remaining unsaid, but visible in her eyes. Delicately he removed her glasses, setting them down on the table and placed the blindfold over her eyes. As they drifted shut her other senses were heightened, and she understood his game.

"It's not too tight?" he asked as he tied the blindfold in a knot at the back of her head.

Giving a shake of the head in reply she took a deep breath, and then another, clearing her mind. Soon, cold and the sweet perfume of strawberries drifted up to her, and she smiled.

"What's the first thing that comes to your mind?" he asked, his voice low, close, intimate.

"Cold."

"What else?"

Her eyes clenched tighter shut, her mind taking her back to happy times in her childhood. She took in a big, gasping breath, before exhaling a soft moan of intense pleasure. "My mother's greenhouse and the sweet juicy strawberries she grew there when I was little."

Silently, he picked up her right hand, lifting it off her lap before dipping its fingertips into the soft ice cream. Sara let out a gasp of surprise, followed by a giggle. "How does it feel?"

"Cold," she laughed, her arm twitching up, her fingers instinctively curling up out of the freezing cold. Slowly, she straightened them back in. "Soft, smooth, creamy like…Blue Bell ice cream."

"Blue Bell, huh?"

She raised her arm in the air in that practised 45-degree angle, wanting to bring her fingers to her mouth.

"Let's use a spoon, huh?" he said, laughing. He caught her arm and wiped the cream off her fingers before lowering her hand back onto her lap. There was a beat and then she felt the cold spoon gently nudge her lips open.

She gasped, her tongue darting out to lick the spoon but there was hardly anything on it. Her face must have registered her disappointment because he laughed again. "Slowly does it," he said, "this is about reacquainting your palate and making sure everything works as it should."

Sara's eyes opened behind the blindfold and she pulled a face at him, but almost immediately the spoon lifted to her lips again, silencing her protest.

"Open wide," he said, "and remember what Paula said."

Tilting her head slightly back, Sara opened her mouth wide and Grissom dropped a little ice cream onto her tongue. She closed her mouth, her eyes following suit, a look of intense pleasure filling her features and she hummed her appreciation as the rich, velvety substance coated her taste buds, triggering sensations and memories very familiar to her.

Her eyes snapped open wide. "It _is _Blue Bell," she said with disbelief, the handkerchief slipping, uncovering her eyes, "Strawberries, my favourite!" She wondered briefly whether he'd expected a different response from her, whether his choosing ice cream to feed her, and this brand and flavour in particular, had meant to trigger something else in her, a shared memory perhaps. It didn't.

Grissom pulled the handkerchief off her face completely, then a smug smile to her lips bowed his head at her. "Very good," he said in a teacher-like voice.

She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, getting every single drib down her throat. "Oh, God, this is so good!"

Turning her face to the side Grissom wiped the handkerchief over a little cream that had dribbled out of her mouth down her chin, then pulled back, a tender smile to his lips as he diligently slipped her glasses back onto her nose. At that very moment, a feeling of intense wellbeing filled her. She felt happy, very much loved and lucky. Lucky to be alive, but also to have such a caring, devoted man standing by her.

She watched as he scooped more melting ice cream into the spoon, avoiding the harder strawberry pieces she couldn't yet manage. Her mouth opened, her eyes closing before he'd even brought the next spoonful up to her. "Next time we'll try something more nutritious," he said as her lips once again wrapped around the delectable treat.

"This is perfect," she said in a moan while trying to concentrate on coordinating all her muscles into swallowing. "More," she said, as the last drop of ice cream went down her throat without hiccup.

Laughing, he brought the next spoonful to her mouth. By the fifth mouthful her confidence was such that she thought she'd cut a few corners. Too much ice cream slid down her throat at once, too quickly, and into her windpipe. She began spluttering, then coughing, ice cream spilling out of her mouth as she choked.

Grissom was on his feet immediately, the spoon dropping into the tub and the tub onto the table. His hand moved to her throat. He leaned her head forward and to the side, clearing and opening her airways in the move Paula had shown them. Fearful eyes met but Sara stopped coughing, her breathing laboured at first but gradually returning to normal.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, saddened by the guilt she saw in his eyes as he cleaned her up. "It wasn't your fault." She tried an appeasing smile. "It just went down the wrong hole."

"Don't joke, please," he said dejectedly, reaching across to brush the back of his fingers up and down her cheek lovingly.

"Paula said it would happen. Besides, I was too excited and got overly confident." She smiled. "But _Blue Bell_, can you blame me?"

"I guess not," he said in a mutter, mindlessly picking up the tub and scraping the spoon around the edges.

"Please, don't let it spoil…this. We were having so much fun."

"We were, weren't we?" he said, a small smile finally breaking.

She watched as he absently stirred the spoon into the mixture, and sighed. "You told Catherine?" she asked hesitantly, hoping a change of topic would lighten the mood.

"About moving back to the townhouse?" he asked, looking up. He nodded his reply.

"And?"

"She didn't try to talk me out of it."

"She knows you well."

He smiled. "She does." He paused, his eyes averting as he slowly pulled the spoon out of the tub and brought it to his lips. "About that," he said hesitantly, chewing, "I was wondering. You know how your mother's coming back on Friday for the weekend?" To her nod, he added, "Well, I was wondering how you'd feel if she…stayed at ours. You know, when she's in town to visit. I mean, the hotel's expensive and-"

"It's fine," she said, watching him guardedly. "I don't mind; it's a good idea."

He nodded, got up to look out of the window. Something else was troubling him, she could tell, and it wasn't the incident with the ice cream.

"Gil? What's the matter?"

He turned and stared at her, and his shoulder lifting sighed. "I'm thinking of going back to CSI."

"Thinking?"

He shook his head, and she nodded, smiling wanly that she understood. "Not full time," he said reassuringly. "Ecklie said that I could work reduced hours and that-"

She frowned. "Ecklie?"

The ghost of a smile appeared on Grissom's lips and he resumed his seat next to her. "He's…our boss. Anyway, I spoke to him this morning – hypothetically, of course, until I spoke with you. But he's agreed my conditions. I won't go out in the field. I'll just do lab work, help Catherine out with paperwork, that kind of stuff."

Sara gave him a nod, forcing a smile. "When?"

"I could start in a couple of weeks. Mornings only," he insisted, his hand moving to her knee, squeezing it. "While you're busy with your therapies – except on pool days – and I can still spend my afternoons with you." He sighed. "Sara, I don't have to go back if you don't want me to, but-"

"But you want to. You need to."

Holding her gaze he acquiesced with a nod.

"Is money an issue?" she asked. His gaze narrowed uncertainly, the cue that her speech was cluttering. She smiled, then took a breath, saying as clearly as she could, "My health insurance is covering all this, isn't it?"

He took a breath, but didn't reply straightaway. She knew he'd made out her question by the way he was watching her, carefully, guardedly even, as though debating with himself how much to tell her, how honest and open to be with the status quo.

Her expression turned serious, and she gave him a narrowed, intent look that hopefully said all the things she couldn't voice. That she understood his dilemma and the reasons for it, but that she didn't want to be kept in the dark about matters that concerned her and most importantly maybe that she didn't want, or need, protecting from life – her life.

"All that in a look, huh?" he smiled, nodding his understanding. "Most of it, yes," he replied at last. "But that's not why I'm going back."

"Still, this place is expensive."

"Yes, it is, but it's also the best."

"I must have some savings you can use." Her face darkened with uncertainty. "I mean, I had some before."

"Oh, you do," he said with a reassuring smile. "You used some when we bought the house, but with your insurance and my salary we should be able to manage to cover everything, for a while anyway."

"You need my signature for anything?" she asked, before she realised how inane her words were.

He just frowned. "No. Your mother is acting on your behalf and Matthew…" he faltered.

"It's okay," she said, uncomfortably. "I know. But I'd like you to have papers drawn, you know, so you can make decisions too."

He smiled uncertainly, his hand lifting, tenderly brushing over her cheek. "As and when," he said after a delay. "But my going back to work isn't about money. I feel ready to go back, in some small capacity. It's hard to fill the hours until I can come be with you, and Catherine could do with the help."

She smiled, nodding, taking his words at face value, yet knowing that the kind of care she was receiving, and would be receiving for many more months – years even, didn't come cheap and that her healthcare wouldn't cover it for ever. She wanted to know about the accident, whether she'd been attacked or gotten injured on the job and would be getting some kind of compensation but the mood had been soured enough and she didn't ask.

Instead she flicked her gaze to the tub of molten ice cream, a smile tugging at her lips, feigning regret as she asked, "So, no more ice cream for today?" adding when he laughed,** "**Blue Bell's too yummy to let it go to waste, and I don't mind sharing."

* * *

><p>When Grissom walked out of the Centre into the late afternoon sunshine a couple of hours later it was with a spring in his step, a wide smile on his lips and a stomach full of ice cream. Squinting eyes scanned the lot ahead, zooming in on the spot where he had parked his car twenty yards or so away, automatically checking it was still there.<p>

Leaning against the Mercedes's driver's side door stood a man. He appeared to be waiting. The same build and height as Greg he wore a dark top, the hood pulled up over his head, jeans and a pair of white sneakers on his feet. His hand rose to his mouth, and he exhaled cigarette smoke. He turned his head, his eyes shifting to the entrance doors, staring directly at Grissom. The sun behind him cast a shadow over his face but he looked to be smiling, his hand lowering in a friendly wave.

Grissom's gaze narrowed as he tried to make out the details of the man's features against the light but he couldn't. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt for his sunglasses, but by the time he'd slipped them on, the man had disappeared. Grissom scanned the vicinity of his car, looking for him, and when he couldn't see him glanced over his shoulder, wondering whether the wave had been directed at someone else.

Shrugging he set off across the lot, his lips twitching with a smile as he recollected his afternoon with Sara. His hand tightened around the cool box. Bringing ice cream had been a stroke of genius, certainly more inspired than soup, as had been his first suggestion to Paula when he'd put his idea across to her. Sara's promise that before long she'd be feeding _him_ ice cream had raised a chuckle of disbelief, but the narrowed, determined look in her eyes had made him proud, leaving him under no illusions that she'd be trying her hardest to make that happen.

He let himself into his car, started the engine and thinking no more of his strange encounter backed out of the parking space, headed home. The smile of contentment never left his lips. He turned out of the lot onto the main street, checked the time, his brow rising at how late it was already; he had to hurry, pick up Hank and walk him before they were due to meet with Ron. He gave his head a shake. Dog therapy; he couldn't wait.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews for the last chapter, I'll reply as soon as I'm back home. A special thank you goes to IKnowWhatToDoAboutThis for the laugh and the adorable image she planted in my mind of Hank lying on a therapist couch and talking about his puppyhood. Needless to say I pinched the image; I hope that's okay. ;-)

* * *

><p>No sooner had the bell rung than the main doors opened and girls of all ages, wearing white blouses, pleated navy skirts and V-necked jumpers, spilled out of Butterfield Academy toward an array of waiting trucks and SUV's. Shielding his eyes Grissom scanned the youthful, eager faces for that of Lindsey, a smile breaking when he finally saw her emerge.<p>

Smiley eyes searched the lot, and he waited until they found him to give her a discreet wave of his hand. Her face lit up with a wide grin and she leaned in to speak to her friends before pointing in his direction. Three pairs of eyes turned at once toward him and he waved again, a little awkwardly this time. Lindsey quickly said goodbye and her heavy backpack swinging uncomfortably on her shoulders took off at a trot to him.

Opening the trunk he took the school bag from her. "You got everything?"

She nodded, saying a little breathlessly, "I was worried you'd changed your mind."

"Oh, no," he said in a chuckle as he stowed the bag away. "Sara's looking forward to your visit far too much for me to want to disappoint her; she's talked of nothing else today."

The smile on her lips faded slightly. "Does―does she remember me at all, you think?"

Grissom considered his reply. "She hasn't said, but seeing you might trigger something. You never know."

Lindsey gave him a pensive nod. "It's just…" she shrugged, "she was nice to me, you know, when my dad died."

"I know," he said, his hand awkwardly lifting to her shoulder. "Just be yourself. It'll be fine."

They got in the car, classical music filling the cab as soon as Grissom turned the key in the ignition. Lindsey pulled a face and laughing he reached across to the CD player, switching it to radio, then pressed the key for a memorised radio station Sara liked listening to he was sure Lindsey would approve of. The teenager thanked him with a wide grin, and after buckling up they set off, reaching the Centre in no time.

They were walking down the corridor to Sara's room when Lindsey's hand slipped inside his. He gave her hand a squeeze, and her an encouraging smile. "Just be yourself," he repeated softly, "It'll be fine."

Releasing her hand he pushed the key into the lock, opening the door a crack, checking Sara was ready for visitors. His face softened, and looking back over his shoulder he brought his index finger to his mouth, indicating that they should be quiet. He opened the door wider, nodding toward Sara dozing in the wheelchair by the window and they stepped in.

"Should we leave her to sleep?" Lindsey asked in a whisper, quietly closing the door behind her.

Checking his watch Grissom covered the distance to Sara and shook his head. "It's quite late already, and they keep to very strict visiting times. Believe me, I know." Quickly he wiped a little drool out of the corner of her mouth and putting his hand to her shoulder gave it a gentle shake. "Sara, love, it's me."

Her eyes snapped open, her head jerking up off her right shoulder, causing an ear bud to fall out of her ear. She twisted her head up and round toward him, looking somewhat disorientated.

Gently, he pulled the second bud out of her ear and picked up the iPod. "There's someone here to see you," he said quietly, motioning toward Lindsey hovering uncertainly by the door. Slowly she followed his gaze.

"Hi, Sara," Lindsey said hesitantly. She looked at Grissom and he smiled in reassurance.

It took Sara a moment to get her bearing. Then she smiled, eyed Lindsey from head to toe before flicking her gaze to Grissom and then back to Lindsey. She wet her lips, her eyelids fluttering, and he knew she was forming words and speech sounds in her mind.

"Hello, Lindsey," she said briefly catching Grissom's eye as she spoke, and he winked at her, an indication that their intensive speech practice of Lindsey's name had paid off. "Fanksfor coming."

Lindsey's smile broadened. She took a hesitant step toward the pair, then another before rushing to Sara's side and taking her in a tight embrace. Grissom and Sara exchanged puzzled glances. When she pulled back she had tears in her eyes but she was still smiling, and Grissom wondered whether there was more to Lindsey and Sara's relationship than he knew, or Sara remembered.

Lindsey made a show of studying Sara's face and hair. "That's what I thought," she said with a knowing look. "I brought some stuff. I thought I could give you a makeover while we catch up."

"Makeover?" Sara repeated, throwing a pained look in Grissom's direction.

"Oh, Lindsey, I did say it wasn't Sara's thing. Maybe-"

"Or maybe just give your hands a manicure," Lindsey went on brightly, undeterred, "and brush your hair. Please?"

"Dlikethat," Sara said before Grissom could voice his next objection. She gave him and Lindsey a long smile.

"Are you sure?" he asked with his eyes. Her ensuing nod was all the reassurance he needed.

Planting herself in front of him Lindsey held out a flat upturned hand. Grissom lowered perplexed eyes from her face to her hand and then back up. Was she demanding money?

"Key," Lindsey said, shaking her head with a disparaging sigh, "for the car. I left my stuff in my bag in the trunk."

"Oh." He reached into his pocket for his car keys, his eyes narrowing toward Sara when he heard her badly-stifled snort of laughter. "This key," he said in a small grumble, showing the larger of the keys, "unlocks the driver's and passenger's side doors and disables the alarm. The other one's to open the trunk. Don't forget to lock everything up afterwards."

"Yes, Sir." With a conspiratory smile at Sara Lindsey snatched the keys out of his hand and started for the door.

He sighed. "Maybe I should come with you."

"I'll take good care of her, I promise," she said, giggling as she let herself out.

Sara burst out laughing. "Liker," she said. "She's – breaf – freshair."

"Mm." Grissom leaned down, finally taking the opportunity to greet Sara with a kiss on the cheek. "I think Catherine would disagree," he said, pulling back. "They don't always see eye to eye."

"Itsamother – daughter - fing."

Grissom watched her with puzzlement for a moment, then said, "I forgot to say before, but I got some news. Hank and I went to see a man last night and-"

"Man?"

"His name's Ron. He manages the Vegas branch of Therapy Dogs Inc."

Sara's gaze narrowed. "Therapy forAnk?" she asked, worry creeping into her voice.

"Well, no," he said, struggling to keep a straight face as a vision of Hank lying on a therapist couch talking about his woes flashed across his eyes. "Not exactly. Although-" he gave his head a shake.

Sara's face took on a thoughtful look. "Not dog therapy?"

"No," he laughed, his hand rising to her face and pushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. "More like therapy for people, involving dogs. Dr Williamson says they have dogs come in all the time at the Centre."

"Forme?" she exclaimed in a quivering gasp.

His shoulder lifted and he smiled, nodding. "And Hank. He misses you, and sadly unlike me he's not allowed in the pool. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked, suddenly beset with doubts. To her happy continuous nod he added, "Anyway, Ron said we were suitable candidates for training. We're starting next week."

A brow arched, and Sara tried, in vain, to hide her amused smile. "Training?"

The rattle of the handle, followed by a quiet tap at the door, cut short Grissom's reply. He went to open the door, letting Lindsey in. She was carrying a small makeup bag. She smiled at Sara, then fixed Grissom with a long stare and when he stared back at her blankly, jerked her head, oh not so subtly, toward the door.

"You're asking me to leave?" he exclaimed, his voice and features registering utter disbelief, "I don't think so." Sara made a strange strangled sound as she tried to hide her mirth while Lindsey's eyes turned imploring. "This look might work on your mother but not on me." He nodded his head to the table by the window. "I'll just sit there and read the paper while you two can just…do what it is you plan on doing." Sara's wide grin was pure delight to his eyes, and winking he stuck out a flat upturned hand at Lindsey.

"Skay," Sara told Lindsey as the latter dumped the car keys in the palm of his hand. "Eecanwatch – and learn."

With a purse of his face at Sara Grissom pocketed his keys and took up his seat at the table. He made a show of opening his newspaper to the right page and with a long mock-aggrieved sigh continued reading from where he'd left off earlier. The room fell silent, to his ears anyway as he blocked out Lindsey's incessant chatter.

Every so often he would lower the top corner of his page and glance at the pair, watching with a fond eye their most surprising interaction. Lindsey was acting remarkably mature in the circumstance, seemingly understanding Sara's speech without obvious trouble. There was no staring, not even a wince or a look of pity at Sara's limitations. Sara appeared comfortable in the youngster's presence, relaxed even, serene. There was a connection between them, an ease and complicity almost friendship-like that he was at a loss to explain.

"You didn't have this before," Lindsey remarked casually after a while.

His ears pricked up, interested. The newspaper lowered a tad and he peered over the top, watching as Lindsey expertly began buffing the nails of Sara's left hand. He frowned.

"What?" Sara asked.

"This ring. It's pretty."

"Gilgaveitme."

Sara's face was turned toward Lindsey, but the smile and pride he heard in her voice made his heart beat a little faster. So, she knew he had given her the ring. What else did she know? She'd never asked about where it had come from, and he hadn't dared broach the subject in case one question led to another and... He wasn't ready to tell her yet. Brass could have mentioned it, of course, but he doubted it. It only left Laura. He sighed and gave his head a shake, refocusing on the present.

"It's like grandma's…" Lindsey's eyes narrowed, the words dying on her lips as she looked up at Sara, her face bright with glee. "An engagement ring?" she almost shrieked.

Grissom couldn't help the grin that broke across his face as he once again hid behind the paper, awaiting Sara's reply. What would she say to that? What _could_ she say? Her answer never came. Swallowing back his sudden dread he peered over the top of the page and found them both staring at him expectantly, wide smiles on their faces.

His eyes locked with Sara's shiny ones and he smiled, but he couldn't say the words, not in front of Lindsey. "It's more of a promise ring," he said at last, his shoulder lifting awkwardly at the missed opportunity. His smile became shy, his gaze flickering to the teenager. "A promise of things to come."

"Goodfings," Sara said, holding his gaze.

His smile broadened and he nodded, saying with his eyes all that Lindsey's presence prevented.

"An engagement ring," the youngster repeated musingly. "Wait till I tell mom!"

"No!" Grissom exclaimed, panicked. He threw Sara a helpless look, then opened his mouth and shut it with a sigh. He glanced at Lindsey.

"Skay," Sara said. "Snot secret. Just-"

"Something we want to keep private. Between us." He paused. His eyes flickered to Sara, his shoulder lifting, his lips pinching in a small smile. "The three of us."

Lindsey gave a solemn nod of the head. "I get it. I won't breathe a word to anyone, I swear." She looked about to say something else when she stopped in her tracks. Her face taking on a thoughtful expression she picked up Sara's hand again and began an intent study of her cuticles.

Grissom took that as a cue that the conversation had ended and after sharing another long look and tender smile with Sara returned to his reading, or at least pretended to. Would it be so terrible for Catherine to know? For everyone to know? What was he trying to hide? His commitment to Sara, the woman he loved more than anything in the world? Would Sara think that his reluctance to tell everyone was because of her disabilities, of the way she was now? She had to know that that wasn't the case, didn't she? After all she valued her privacy as much as he did.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like," Lindsey said after a moment, drawing him out of his thoughts, "so I brought a selection."

"Nice," said Sara.

"It's my mom's favourite."

Grissom frowned, lowering his paper just as Lindsey was painting the first of Sara's nail.

"I think this colour's best," she said, nodding as she admired her work. She looked up, smiling as she caught his eye, and raised Sara's hand in his eye line. "What do you think?"

His smile vanished; a vision of McKay painting Sara's nails a brilliant Manhunt red filled his mind. "Take it off," he said sharply before he could censor his reaction.

Lindsey's face dropped and she turned enquiring eyes toward Sara. "Sara? You don't like it either?"

Sara's eyes were intent on her hand and she didn't reply.

Lindsey dipped her head. "Something's wrong" she told Grissom, her face screwing with fear as she glanced up at him. "Something's wrong with Sara. She's crying."

Panic gripped him. He was at her side in an instant, kneeling, taking and squeezing her hand. "Oh, Sara, honey. I'm sorry."

"What is it?" Lindsey asked with growing distress. "You think she doesn't like it? I got stuff to remove it. Sara?"

Sara sat completely motionless, unaware, tears poised to fall in the corner of her eyes. His hand moved to her face, coaxing it round gently until their eyes met. He ran a shaky hand across her face, pushing her hair out of the way. It was like she wasn't seeing him.

"Car," she said in a gasp. She blinked, the tears in her eyes slipping onto her cheeks, onto his hand. Her eyes dropped to her painted fingernail. "Red. Redcar. Water, lotsawater. Drowning."

It took a moment for Sara's words to make it through Grissom's understanding. He frowned. If she wasn't remembering McKay and her attack, then what was she remembering? He scanned his brain, searching for an event in Sara's life, a case that stood out, anything that would…and then he knew. He gasped in realisation, his eyes drifting to Lindsey watching by helplessly.

Sara gave her head a shake, lifted heartbroken eyes to him and then to Lindsey. More tears fell. "Imembercrash," she said, her voice a barely audible whisper.

Grissom took a breath, glancing toward Lindsey uncomfortably. He mustered what he hoped was a calming smile. "Sara's not doing too well at the moment. Maybe we-"

"Red car," Sara went on as though in a trance. She frowned, her eyes refocusing onto him suddenly, beseeching, and he knew what she was asking him.

Grissom swallowed and shook his head. Crouching down he brushed his thumbs over her cheeks. "No, Sara, it wasn't you in the car. What you're remembering isn't your accident." He blew out a slow fraught breath, his eyes once again flicking toward Lindsey. He needed to get her out of the room, and fast.

Sara's gaze veered toward Lindsey too, and he could see the cogs of her brain slowly put everything back together. "You," she said in a small gasp. She smiled and paused, her eyes saddening. "Syouinaccident. Msorry."

He glanced toward Lindsey, saw she had tears in her eyes too, and cursed himself for his lack of forethought.

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," the teenager said, smiling through her tears. "That's how we got to know each other. How we became friends."

"Friends?" Sara repeated uncertainly.

Lindsey looked at Grissom quizzically; she didn't seem as upset as he feared. He took a breath, then shook his head at her, straightened up and ran a tired hand through his hair. "Listen," he said in what he hoped was a kind yet firm tone, "I ought to take you back home now. Your mom will be waiting, and Sara needs to rest."

"But I haven't finished doing her nails. I―I'm okay," she said earnestly, "honest."

"Still," he insisted. "It's getting late."

"Gil," Sara said, "mkay." She gave him that look again, the one that said, _Stop trying to protect me_. "Smylife. Smypast. Please, needtoknow."

"No, Sara," Grissom said heatedly, holding her gaze. He lowered his voice. "This time it's not just about you. It's not fair on Lindsey."

"You're just like my mother!" Lindsey snapped, startling Sara. She checked herself, her eyes lowering in remorse as she defended, "I'm not a little girl anymore. I can make my own decisions. Sara helped me a lot in the past, and I want to help her." Turning toward Sara she smiled, took her hand and began removing the red varnish off her nail.

He sighed. "Lindsey, I-"

"You investigated my father's death," Lindsey said, addressing Sara, silencing Grissom. "You were kind to me and afterwards we kind of…became friends." She smiled. "You called me a couple of times to check how I was doing. Then you took me out for a shake. I couldn't talk to my mom about any of it, or the therapist she made me go to see, but with you it was different. You knew what it was like-"

"Tolose yourdad," Sara completed when Lindsey faltered. Her voice was calm, measured, her eyes dry.

"Yes."

"And Ihelped?"

"You did. I could talk to you; it was easy because you didn't treat me like a kid. You didn't feed me any lines, or keep me in the dark about what really happened. You explained things to me in a way I understood, and you didn't judge my dad."

Sara gave a thoughtful nod. "Or break my promise not to tell your mother," she said in a slow halting speech.

How come he didn't know any of this? Grissom lifted stunned eyes to Sara, and her shoulder rose. She was about to speak when she stopped abruptly, her eyes veering to the bed. He hadn't heard the phone ring.

"Youbetter – take it," she said softly, when he made no move to answer it.

He gave his head a shake, refocused his eyes on the still ringing phone and slowly pushed up to his feet.

"Mr Grissom? It's the front desk," he heard when he answered with a curt "Room 109". He sighed. "I'm afraid there's been an…incident."

His hand rose to his face and turning away he rubbed his eyes wearily while listening to the woman's quick, harried explanation. "I'll be right there," he said when she'd finished.

"Whatswrong?" Sara asked when he hung up.

Turning toward her he tried a smile. "It's nothing; they need me at the front desk."

Her gaze narrowed suspiciously in _that_ look again, and he sighed. "The alarm's gone off on the car," he said, checking the keys were in his pocket. He started for the door, stopped and turning round told Lindsey, "You stay here with Sara while I go and check it out. I won't be long." Sara watched him leave, her eyes dark with foreboding.

He could hear the blare of the alarm all the way from the lobby and he rushed across the lot to the small crowd of people gathered around the Mercedes. Using his key he shut the alarm off, sighing at how quickly a crime scene got contaminated. Still, he didn't think CSI would be needed in this instance. Automatically he scanned his gaze over the faces nearby, pausing as he saw a shape in the distance that looked vaguely familiar, but before he could really focus on it, it had disappeared out of sight.

"The police are on their way," someone said and peering through the smashed-in driver's side window he nodded his head forlornly.

"Any witnesses?" he asked more out of habit than conscious thought, frowning as he caught sight of a sharp rock amongst the broken glass on the seat. There didn't appear to be anything missing, the stereo still in its place, and he couldn't help thinking that there were far quieter, less destructive ways of getting into the Mercedes if theft of the car was the motive. Something didn't ring true.

His frown deepening in bemusement, he stared at the rock, silently bemoaning the fact that he didn't have his kit with him after all. Maybe a little investigating was just what he needed in the circumstance. The hint of a smile pulled at his lip at the opportunity that suddenly presented itself to him. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell, thinking how nice it would be to see Sara's kit put to good use.


	22. Chapter 22

The loud roar of a fast-approaching engine made Grissom turn and he watched as Greg came to a stop behind the Mercedes with a squeal of brakes. The hint of a smile pulled at his lips as he checked his watch; it had taken the young CSI less than twenty minutes to arrive.

"Is Sara all right?" Greg asked breathlessly, emerging from the Honda Civic kit in hand.

Grissom pretended to consult his watch. "Not bad," he said with a purse of his mouth.

Greg took off his sunglasses and rubbed at his face, his look of worry turning to confusion.

"Got you out of bed, did I?"

Greg scanned puzzled eyes over the surrounding area. "Sara's…okay?"

"She's fine," Grissom replied breezily. "She's with Lindsey, inside." He nodded at the Mercedes. "What do you make of this?"

Greg gave his head a shake and refocusing on Grissom's car took a couple of cautious steps closer to it. "You got me out of bed after I worked a double, calling in a code four, for…_this_?" he exclaimed with disbelief, whipping his head round toward his boss. "I mean, she's beautiful and everything but-"

Grissom registered a look of surprise, his gaze narrowing at the younger man's presumptuous tone. Sweat was dripping into his eyes and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. "You got a spare cap on you?" he asked, cutting into Greg's tirade.

The young CSI did a double take. "What?"

"For my head, it's sweltering out here."

Greg gave his head another shake and let out a long breath. "Hum, I…swung by the lab on my way over for your kit," he said somewhat sheepishly, adding in a shrug, "I thought you might need it. I checked it, made sure everything was there. Anyway, I'm sure there was a cap in it. It's in the trunk. I'll go fetch it."

Grissom's brow lifted, impressed, touched. "Where's Sara's kit?" he asked, staring at the kit Greg had just put down.

Greg stopped and turned, hung his head. "It's in the trunk of my car, with yours."

"Get them both."

Greg sighed. "I didn't want to damage it. I-"

"Greg," Grissom cut in, closing the distance between them. He paused and took a breath, choosing his words with care. "Sara gave you her kit because she wants you to use it, not leave it idle in the trunk of your car. She insisted; it's important to her." He blinked, suddenly feeling somewhat emotional, and mustered a smile. "She won't be coming back, you know that, don't you?"

Greg's eyes averted and he acknowledged his boss's words with a small lift of his right shoulder.

Grissom swallowed the lump in his throat. "Use her kit, please. Keep her going that way."

Greg looked up, tears in his eyes, and nodded his head.

"Sara is―was your mentor," Grissom continued, "and she saw a lot of potential in you, the makings of a good CSI." He bit his bottom lip, his eyes flicking down, his shoulder lifting awkwardly at what he was admitting. "I see the same thing she does," he added quietly.

"You do?"

Grissom met Greg's eyes and acquiesced with a soft nod. They stared at each other silently for an instant, and then he motioned with his head that the young CSI should get the kits from the trunk of his car so they could get started. Greg picked up his field case off the ground, making for the trunk. He followed, watching as the trunk opened, feeling a jab of pain at seeing his and Sara's kit sitting alongside each other. Instinctively his left hand lifted, reaching in for Sara's kit when Greg beat him to it, wordlessly swapping his kit with hers before pulling out Grissom's which he held out with an unsuspecting smile.

Letting out an inward sigh Grissom took out his CSI cap and a pair of latex gloves. It had been over a mouth since he'd last donned either and he wasn't sure whether he was quite ready to yet. Still, this little exercise would be a good practice and he had another week before he was due to start again. He slid the cap on, then looked at his broken arm and pursed his face.

Greg laughed. "Do you need a hand with that?"

"If I had a nickel for every time I've heard that," he said in a sigh, readily accepting Greg's offer nevertheless. He checked his watch. "Okay, let's get started. I told Sara and Lindsey I wouldn't be long, and that was more than half-an-hour ago." He turned toward the car. "Okay, first blush, what's your thinking?"

"Well, I'm thinking that you wouldn't have called me if this was just a case of regular auto theft. No offence meant, as this is a beautiful specimen. Not many left in this condition, I should think. I'm thinking a '62 model?"

Grissom's mouth pursed, his brow rising, impressed. "'63. Go on."

"Experienced car thieves would know that a car in mint condition like this would be fitted with an after-market alarm system, and that breaking the window would bring attention to them, probably curtailing the actual theft of the car as it's so near the main entrance. Was anything taken?"

"Not that I can see. The stereo's still there, as is Lindsey's stuff in the trunk and everything in the glove compartment." Grissom paused, expectant.

"I'm thinking the kid saw the stereo, didn't think a car this age would be alarmed and went for it." Greg turned and scanned his gaze upward over the building. "CCTV," he remarked.

Grissom nodded. "Lawrence's checking it out."

"But you knew all that already," Greg said musingly. "You didn't need me to― Grissom, why am I here?"

Grissom's brow arched. "I would have thought it obvious; I need your right hand."

A wide grin broke across Greg's face. "You've missed this, haven't you? Being out in the field, figuring out puzzles, _teaching_."

He didn't attempt to hide his smile or deny the younger man's words. Why else was he returning, if not for all that? But now he also realised that he wanted to continue what Sara had started with Greg. His heartfelt words had been truthful before and he was glad he'd found it in him to tell Greg, still feeling some remorse at the way he'd spoken to him more than a week previously.

He raised his kit in the air and they set down to work, analysing, documenting and printing the areas they suspected might have been touched by the vandal. In his mind, that was all it was, a simple act of vandalism, a random and most probably opportunistic attack. Greg worked the inside of the car, Grissom the outside.

He was kneeling. He had just lifted prints on and around the driver's side door handle, mainly partials and smudges and most probably all his, when he noticed swirling lines drawn in dust on the main body of the door. He couldn't remember when he'd last washed the car, but there appeared to be a light covering of desert dust all over the pale metallic blue. The sun reflected off the car, its glare blinding, and he opened the door wider, leaning in and studying the patterns more closely against the light.

The shadow of a tall, large man moved over him, making part of the inscription more clearly visible. _Watchin_, it said, or at least Grissom thought it did. Looking perplexed he reached for his camera and lined up a shot of the door. "Don't move," he said, depressing the shutter.

"CCTV's inconclusive," Officer Lawrence began. He paused, and lowering his camera Grissom looked up over his shoulder to listen. "It shows a hooded white male, young-looking, average build, average height. No remarkable features. He entered from the south entrance over there," Lawrence added, hooking a thumb to his left, and Grissom's eyes followed, "and exited west a few minutes later, on foot. He walked straight to the car, crouched down for a few seconds where you are now, then smashed the window in, presumably with the rock but that's not clearly visible on account of his body obscuring the view."

Grissom's face became distant as he took in the officer's information and he nodded.

"One thing's for sure," Lawrence went on, "you never get a clear shot of his face. He never looked directly at any of the cameras."

"Probably knew where they were," Greg piped up from inside the car before popping his head out. "Sounds to me like he targeted your car on purpose."

"Yeah, but why? And to what ends? There was nothing to steal, except for the stereo." Grissom sighed, his eyes returning to the car. "You took a copy?" he then asked, glancing back toward Lawrence, adding when the officer nodded, "Get it to CSI."

Lawrence leaned down and scanned a narrowed, interested gaze over the inscription on the door, then giving a nod reached for his radio.

"Greg, what do you make of this?" Grissom asked.

Greg extracted himself out of the car, wiped his wrist over his brow and walked round the door. "Where?" he asked, crouching down next to Grissom.

"Stand directly behind me and it'll stand out more."

Greg did as bid and bending over Grissom studied the door with puzzlement. His eyes widened suddenly. "Im…watchin," he read, squinting.

"Where do you see 'I'm'?" Grissom asked.

Greg reached out his finger, pointing to a point slightly up and left of where 'watchin' was written. "There, look. One word, no apostrophe."

"I'm watching?" Grissom mused, "I'm watching what?"

Greg shrugged, then crouched down next to Grissom. "What's this there?" he asked.

Grissom frowned. "I don't see anything. It's just a…"

"A 'U'," Greg said. "The letter U, for _you_."

A sick feeling filled Grissom. Could this attack not be as random as he had first thought? His heart pounding he lifted wide eyes to Greg and then to the main building. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble just to tell him that he was watching him; someone who knew where he spent his afternoons.

"A stalker?" Greg wondered, seeming following the same train of thought as Grissom. "Who? Why?"

"Take your pick," Grissom snapped, pulling at his shirt collar uncomfortably, "the list of people I had a hand putting behind bars is long and not very distinguished."

"Could be anyone," Greg said, trying for a mild tone but failing. "I mean, it doesn't have to…"

"He broke the window so I'd find his message, so I wouldn't drive off without seeing it. Whoever wrote this wants me to know that he's watching me. And that he's watching me here at the Centre."

"We don't know this was written here," Greg argued. "I mean, you could have been driving round with it on for days, and not know it. For all we know the two…events are unrelated."

Grissom's headshake was definite. "No."

"If you're the target why write a message in dirt on you car door, rather than on a note or a phone call at your house. Why-"

"Because he knew that this way we'd get nothing from it. No prints, no DNA, no trace, nothing. He's warning me, Greg. He's-"

Grissom's jaw tensed, the words dying on his lips. His pulse began racing as evidence he'd paid no attention to up to now, took shape in his mind. The phone call to the townhouse two nights ago; the caller hung up as soon as he'd picked up. Then there was the man leaning against his car the previous day who had waved at him. And now, this.

He pulled the cap off his head and wiped his left arm over his sweaty brow. Jimmy Wallis's name flashed in front of his eyes. Yet it couldn't be. Brass had Wallis in custody for the attack on Sara. Suddenly, he feared for Sara's safety, for her life. He pushed up off the car to his feet, quickly scanning his eyes over the area for Lawrence.

"Lawrence," he shouted, "call for backup!" As he spoke his eyes roamed over the lot, searching for Wallis, but apart from the three of them and a few people milling around by the entrance all was quiet. "And get that copy of the CCTV footage to CSI. Now! Tell whoever's in the A/V lab to compare it to the footage of the Wallis' brothers taken in Desert Breeze Park when Sara was attacked."

"Wallis?" Greg repeated with disbelief. "That's a bit of a leap, isn't it? What makes you think he's behind this? It could have been done by anyone, anywhere. I mean we don't even know the two events are connected!"

Grissom stared at Greg, eyes narrowed, hard, probing. "And yet you fail to mention the only thing that could appease me. I mean, you know it's not Wallis behind this because he's in custody, right?" His voice was steadily rising and there was a pause where Greg's eyes lowered. "That's what you need to tell me, Greg, because that's the only thing that's going to appease me."

Greg kept his eyes fixed to a point on the ground and his mouth firmly shut.

Grissom's shoulders slumped, a look of intense pain and turmoil crossing his face. "Wallis is in custody, isn't he?" His voice was pleading now.

Greg lifted anguished eyes up to Grissom.

"Isn't he?" he snapped loudly when Greg didn't reply. His heart sank in his chest as the truth began to take hold. "Tell me he's behind bars," he pleaded helplessly. "Tell me!"

"You need to speak to Brass," Greg said dejectedly.

His left hand clenched in a tight fist around the ball cap. "Oh, I will," he said through gritting teeth, struggling not to unleash his anger and frustrations onto Greg. "Don't you worry about that, I will."

He tossed the cap inside his field case and made to leave the scene, then returning to it brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. He began pacing on the spot, taking a moment to calm the turmoil in his head and his racing heart while he pondered his next move. Greg was right, he kept telling himself, they had no physical evidence Wallis was behind all this.

"Lawrence!" he called after a minute. The officer finished putting a call through his radio, then turned his head toward Grissom. "Can you go and check on Sara for me? She's in room 109."

"That won't be necessary," Lawrence said with a small smile.

"How do you mean?" he said with sudden alarm.

The officer was nodding his head toward a point behind him when Sara's puzzled "Whatshappened?" made him jump out of his skin. His eyes drifted shut and he took a breath and a second to school his features into a casual look before he could face her.

Lawrence must have noticed Grissom's discomfiture because he stepped in. "Sara," he said, acknowledging her with a slight nod of the head and a smile, "It's good to see you."

Sara's eyes moved to Lawrence. She smiled, nodding back, but it was clear that she didn't remember the officer. She redirected her gaze on Grissom. "Alarmsgoneoff, huh?"

He felt his heart sink for the second time, not because he was angry at her for coming out there but because she looked lovely. Lindsey had done her hair up, put a little colour to her eyes and cheeks, and she just looked…lovely. And it pained him that at that moment in time he was too preoccupied and scared for her safety to tell her.

He took another calming breath and lifted a mild shoulder, aiming for a sheepish look. "I'm sorry," he said, dodging her query, "Greg and I got a little carried away here. I thought I'd make sure I hadn't lost my touch, you know, considering I'm starting back next week."

"You're coming back?" Greg exclaimed with surprise.

Grissom didn't acknowledge the young CSI's rejoinder. He just fixed Lindsey with a hard stare. "I told you to stay put."

"No," she said levelly. "You told me to stay with Sara."

"How did you get past the guard anyway?" he asked.

"We came round the back way." Lindsey's eyes became sorrowful. "Sara showed me where to go, we wanted to surprise you."

"Snot herfault," Sara defended. "Itold her to." She smiled. "Sowhats allthis?"

"The car got broken into."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Ican - seethat. But thatsnot why yourupset."

"I'm not upset, simply annoyed," he lied.

"Anything taken?" she asked.

"No. We think they got disturbed before they had time." He flicked his eyes to Greg. "Don't we Greg?"

Greg gave his head a shake, refocusing, then nodded eagerly.

Sara's suspicious frown deepened. "Whatcanidotohelp?"

Pain filled Grissom's eyes, and he watched her uncertainly for a moment, trying to decide if she was being serious or not. The look in her eyes indicated the former, causing a pang of sadness to shoot through his heart. "Sara…" he said in what he hoped was an understanding tone. He paused and sighed. "I'm sorry, but you can't. You know I can't have you help. You shouldn't even be out here."

"Whynot?" she asked.

"Because it's not…" he stopped. How could he tell her it wasn't safe for her to be out there? How could he tell her that he feared that the person who had attacked her and left her for dead was out of jail, free to walk the streets, free to harm again, free to harm _her_ again?

"Snot – what?" she challenged.

"It's not lab policy," Greg said quickly. Reaching out a hand to her shoulder he gave Sara an appeasing smile. "Ecklie would have a field day if he found out. Grissom shouldn't even be helping at all, you know?"

Sara's eyes flicked back to Grissom who simply shrugged his shoulders, unhappy about the lie but grateful for Greg's intervention. Unable to hold her gaze he turned his head toward Officer Lawrence. "Lawrence's going to take you and Lindsey back to your room now," he said softly. "Greg was almost finished anyway and…"

"Don't do this, Grissom," Sara said slowly. Her eyes shone with the beginning of tears, tears he could tell she was desperately trying to hold on to. "Dontlie tome. Dontshut me out."

Grissom's sigh was long and weary. "I don't want to, sweetheart, believe me. But I have no choice, I'm sorry." He threw a pleading look at Lindsey. "Please, Lindsey, take her back inside. I'll come in as soon as I've packed up my stuff."

Sara's eyes filled as she stared at him and he averted his eyes briefly at the hurt he saw in hers. She'd seen straight through his lie, but what else could he have done? He bent down to kiss her on the cheek but she turned her face away, dodging the kiss, and indicated to Lindsey that she was ready to go back.

"We can't get back," Lindsey said. She flashed him a small smile. "You've got the key to the room."

Grissom pulled his left glove off with a sigh and fished in his pocket for the key which he wordlessly handed to Lindsey. His eyes were on Sara but she was looking down to her lap. He felt like the worst man on earth; he hated what he'd just done, but he just couldn't share his suspicions with her without telling her the bigger picture. He glanced up at Lindsey, motioning with his head that she should take Sara back now.

As Lindsey turned the wheelchair round Grissom took Officer Lawrence aside. "Make sure she doesn't suspect, but keep guard outside her door until backup gets here, okay? No one enters her room without suitable ID from the Centre. Make sure you check."

"Grissom," Lawrence said, "is all this necessary?"

Grissom's eyes were on Lindsey and Sara making their way back indoors. Sara never looked back. "I sincerely hope not," he replied, knowing that if Jimmy Wallis was behind this he would be long gone by now, "but I can't take the risk until I have spoken to Brass."

"You're boss."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

Grissom watched Lawrence cross the lot toward the main entrance to the building and have a word with the security guard at the door before following where Sara and Lindsey had disappeared to. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder and he turned toward Greg, nodding, grateful for the younger man's support. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath through his nose, and then another. He felt his pulse rising again and ran his tongue over his lips but they were dry, as dry as his mouth. He knew it was fear, fear that froze him to the spot, fear that prevented him from putting his hand in his pocket and getting his cell out. One call would alleviate all his fears. One call. So why couldn't he make it?

"Brass!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "How could you? How could you betray me like this? And how could you betray Sara?"


	23. Chapter 23

"Sara, hi," Greg said from the threshold as Lindsey let him in, "I've come to take Linds home."

Sara didn't acknowledge his presence. Sitting on her wheelchair she had her eyes closed, her face angled up, turned away from him and as he stood there, awkwardly clasping his hands in front of him, the bright smile he'd carefully schooled on his face vanished.

"We haven't quite finished," Lindsey said as she quietly took up her seat across from Sara.

"It's okay. I can wait," he said, and watched silently as Lindsey picked up a clean white cotton pad, dabbed a little cream on it and continued removing makeup from Sara's face.

Sara's breathing was deliberately slow, measured, just like Grissom's had been when he'd left him in the lot, but he knew that behind similarly calm exteriors both were distraught by what had happened earlier. His own heart felt heavy with regrets but he knew that if he apologised she'd want to know what for, and what would he do then? Grissom wouldn't forgive him if he spoke out of turn, risking upsetting Sara even more.

He walked up to the bed, picked up _The Science of Entomology_discarded over the covers and began flicking through it. "Don't be mad at me please, Sara," he said in a small voice, keeping his eyes on the book.

"Mnot," came her mumbled reply. Her voice was soft and kind, compassionate. "MadatGrissom."

His thumb came to a stop at the book's title page and reading the inscription dedicated to Sara inside he looked up with a frown. "How long have…you and Grissom been seeing each other?" he asked hesitantly.

Sara's eyes snapped open, narrowed and enquiring. "Dunno," she replied musingly. She met his eyes briefly and the sorrow and despair that clouded hers brought tears to his. "Dontmember."

Kicking himself for his thoughtlessness Greg managed a small nod and smile before quickly dropping his eyes back to the book in his hand.

"Howlong - you think?" she then asked with genuine interest.

He waited a beat before glancing up, worried she'd notice his pain, but her eyes were once again closed as Lindsey carefully cleaned round them. "I'm not sure," he said. "You never told me." He let out a small chuckle. "And I never figured it out. Why don't you ask Grissom?"

Sara remained silent, seemingly pondering the answer to his question. "Wheres -ee?"

"He's still in the lot, waiting for the tow truck to arrive to take the Merc away." He flicked his eyes up off the page. "He said he'd come as soon as that was done."

Sara's eyes were still closed and she didn't comment, but now as he studied her without makeup he was struck by how pale she looked, how tired and fragile and so very sad too. Was this the Sara Grissom saw when he looked at her? Was this the reason behind his protectiveness – overprotectiveness some might say?

"Come on, Lindsey," he said as she finished. He put the book back down on the bed. "We need to get going or your mom'll be wondering what's happened to you."

Lindsey met his eyes and nodded. Then she picked up Sara's glasses from the table and slipped them back on her nose. "All done," she told her, standing up.

Sara opened her eyes, the smile she gave the young girl warm and affectionate but fading as she redirected a narrowed gaze onto him. Behind the hurt and sadness present there he caught a glimpse of the old Sara, her determination and spirit shining forth. She'd come to a decision, he could tell, and he braced himself for it.

"Tellim not tobother coming," she announced, her gaze steadfast and penetrating.

His face fell with a sigh. "You don't mean that, Sara."

"I do."

"Don't be mad at him," he pleaded weakly, "he's only looking out for you because he cares. He was only trying to-"

"Protectme, Igetit. Eelied. Eelooked atme in the eye andlied."

Greg blew out a long sigh. "You're right, he shouldn't have done that. But you caught him by surprise and you know Grissom's not very good at―with…" he shut his mouth and shrugged, faltering.

"Handling his emotion?" Lindsey said with a disbelieving scoff. "Showing how he feels?" Greg turned wide incredulous eyes in her direction, and she shrugged, adding, "He was mean to us, Greg, when we did nothing wrong."

"Lindsey, stay out of this," Greg said sternly, "you don't know what you're talking about." His head snapped round toward Sara, a look of helpless disbelief filling his features. "Sara, Grissom wasn't being _mean_," he defended heatedly, suddenly feeling the need to explain and fight his boss's corner for him. "He can be a little…insensitive at times but…You took him by surprise that's all. He wasn't expecting you to be there. It's just that he-"

"What?" Sara prompted sharply, lifting sad eyes to his. Her lips pinched together, their trembling increasing as she watched him, waiting for a reply he couldn't give her. A lonely tear fell down her cheek and she looked away. "Eelied to me, Greg. Eelied and so did you."

Greg opened his mouth to defend himself but shut it before another lie passed his lips. She was right; he had lied to her, hurting her in the process. Slowly he covered the distance to her and crouching down took her hand in his. "You're right," he said gravely, bringing his eyes up and meeting hers dead on. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have lied to you." Hoping this was enough to appease her he gave her hand a squeeze, his gaze turning earnest, pleading. "Still friends?"

The right side of her face curled up in a small, reluctant smile and she nodded. Without warning her eyes drifted shut, her head flopping to the side. "Tellim Imtired," she said in a rasped whisper, her speech worsening and barely understandable. Greg leaned in, listening intently. "Tellim nottocome until hesready to tellme the truth."

Greg let out a dejected breath at her words. "He was scared, Sara," he said quietly. "The look you saw on his face, the words you thought _mean_ were borne out of fear. Back there when he saw you, he was scared, Sara, and that's the truth." He paused, letting his words sink, and Sara raised her head and slowly reopened her eyes. Her lids were heavy with sleep. "He thinks-" Realising he was about to say too much Greg stopped and lifted a helpless shoulder.

"Scared?" she repeated in a disbelieving gasp.

Greg gave her a deliberately slow nod of the head. "Don't ask me why, please," he said, reading the next question in her eyes. "It's for him to tell you, not me. I've said too much already."

Sara stared at him intently for a long moment and then nodded her head. "Fankyou."

Greg's returning smile was very tender. "You're ready Linds?" he then said, glancing at Lindsey waiting by the door, and then turning back to Sara, "Do you need help with anything before we leave?"

Sara seemed to be struggling with keeping her head up, her control over the muscles in her neck slipping but she managed a weak nod in reply. "Canyoucall forsomeone? Mverytired."

"Sure," he said smiling, and crossed the room to use the phone and call reception. When he finished, Sara's eyes were once again closed and Lindsey was hovering nearby looking concerned. Hesitantly, he joined her side again, blinking back sudden tears at how frail she looked. He watched her uncertainly for a moment, then opened his arms and enveloped her in a warm gentle hug.

"I'll come by on Sunday," he said in her ear, "I've got the night off. I found us a live recording of a Kings of Leon concert you will love."

Feeling her head move against his shoulder in a slow nod he tightened the hold he had on her before pulling back slightly and brushing his lips over her cheek in a soft kiss. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, a small trembling downturn of her lips that made his own smile quaver.

"I'll see you then, then," he said quietly.

"I'll come back soon too," Lindsey echoed warmly.

Sara turned toward Lindsey, mustering a wider smile. "Fankyou formakeover, and memries."

"Any time," Lindsey said. "I had fun."

"You looked lovely," Greg said a little awkwardly. "I'm sure Grissom noticed."

"Mom says he doesn't see physical beauty anyway, only spiritual."

Sara let out a small snort and Greg's head snapped round toward Lindsey, eyes narrowed in warning.

"What?" she defended, "It's the truth! I also heard her tell grandma once that if someone gave him a chance he'd have a lot of love to give."

For a second Greg thought Sara was crying but then Lindsey began to laugh, and he realised that Sara was laughing too.

"So shall I tell him to come?" he asked hopefully.

Sara's eyes drifted shut again, her head lolling to the side as she shook it. Drained and weary, she was struggling to stay awake. "Tellim tomorrow."

By the time they got back to Grissom the tow truck had arrived and the Mercedes been hoisted up onto the flat bed. Grissom had tidied up the scene and loaded their kits and what little evidence they had in the trunk of Greg's car, and was deep in conversation with Officer Metcalf who Greg assumed was Lawrence's backup.

"How's Sara?" Grissom asked when he'd finished briefing Metcalf.

"She was okay when we left," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "Just very tired. We called someone to settle her back to bed."

Grissom heaved a long sigh, then nodded his head. "Thank you for doing that. I―I'll-"

"She said she doesn't want to see you," Lindsey said, pre-empting Grissom's next words, and after giving her a long hard disapproving stare Greg motioned with his head for her to get in the car.

"It's for the best," Grissom said quietly. "I wouldn't be able to tell her what she wants to hear anyway. Besides if Wallis is after me it's safer if I stay away."

"Grissom," Greg said, appeasing, and sighed. "That's not what Sara wants. She's a little upset right now, and also very tired, but you know she didn't mean it."

"Yeah, she did," Grissom and Lindsey said in unison.

Greg turned thunderous eyes on Lindsey. "Lindsey, get in the car," he said through gritted teeth. Then to Grissom, "She's mad at you right now because she knows you're not being straight with her, and she's got a point. Sara's stronger now mentally and I think it would help her to know what's happened."

"Thank you, Greg," Grissom said wryly, "When I want your advice I'll ask for it."

Before Greg could respond Grissom turned on his heels and rushed over to the tow truck driver who was finishing strapping the car down. After a quick word with him he returned, and hooking a thumb over his shoulder said, "He's going to give me a ride home on his way to the shop so I can pick up Sara's Prius."

"Grissom, that's not necessary; we can swing by yours on the way."

Grissom shook his head. "No. You take Lindsey back and then I want you to check out the CCTV evidence as soon as possible. I'm going to go and see Brass. I'm surprised he's not heard and here already." He made to leave, then thought better of it and turned back toward Greg, his hand slipping in the inner pocket of his jacket and taking out a blank CD.

"What's this?" Greg asked with a frown.

"When I left the Centre yesterday," Grissom said in a sigh, "there was a man leaning on the car, waiting. He left before I could get a good look at him." He glanced at the CD in his hand before handing it to Greg. "This is a copy of the CCTV footage of the car lot from yesterday. I haven't seen it. See if it's the same guy as today and if we get a better shot of him." The tow truck driver shouted over, and after nodding at the driver that he was coming he left, leaving Greg to watch helplessly as he stiffly clambered up into the cab.

* * *

><p>"How could you?"<p>

Brass had heard the collective gasp in the despatch room announcing Grissom's whirlwind arrival long before the uncontained rage in his friend's voice. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and a moment to form his reply. He'd expected Grissom's anger, hell, he'd been expecting it for days now, and had his arguments ready. He would keep cool and defend his decision calmly.

Looking up from his computer screen a shiver ran down his spine as he stared directly into his friend's dark, cold, menacing face. The desolation and powerlessness in Grissom's demeanour, the anguish and fear in his eyes was heart-breaking and reminiscent of the Grissom in the aftermath of the attack, a Grissom capable of the unthinkable. And sadly for Brass it brought back images he would rather forget.

"You heard then?" he tried weakly, wishing he could have come up with something stronger in the circumstance.

"That's all you have to say?" Grissom snarled. "How can you stand there and look at me in the eye and ask if I've heard?" As he spoke his voice kept rising. "How could you look Sara in the eye, knowing that you'd let the bastard that left her to die, that's destroyed her life, my life, get off scot-free?"

Brass stiffened. "I-I-"

"How could you betray me like that?" Grissom went on heatedly without pausing for breath. He clamped his mouth shut, taking a fraught breath through his nose and gritted, "how could you betray Sara?" The tears that clung in his eyes pooled in their corners and he turned his face away.

Heads were turned toward them from all corners, stunned anxious eyes staring unabashedly through the plate glass surrounding his office, and Brass got up from his chair, quickly walking around his desk to shut the door and toggle the blinds. Grissom's words had cut him deep and he paused to compose himself.

"Sit down, please, Gil," he said calmly turning and opening his hand in a friendly gesture toward the chair across from his. "Let me explain."

Grissom shook his head briskly. "What is there to explain, huh? What-" His cell rang, cutting him off mid-sentence. A look of fear crossed his face and he whipped his eyes down, panicked as he fished the phone out of his jacket inner pocket. He checked the display and releasing a breath Brass could only thought was in relief, stabbed an angry finger on the device ending the call.

"This afternoon," he went on through gritted teeth, glancing up at Brass as he shoved the cell back in his pocket, "my car got vandalised while I was visiting Sara. The bastard waited until I was visiting Sara to tell me he was watching me. He left me a message, Jim. Wallis is watching me," he drummed out in a deliberately slow, overly calm voice. "But he's not watching me, is he? He's watching Sara. He knows where she is and he's playing with me and-"

"That's not possible," Brass countered firmly but quietly. He walked back behind his desk, taking up his seat and inviting Grissom to do the same. He didn't. "Wallis _cannot_ physically be behind what happened this afternoon. He's in Mexico, Gil."

The wind knocked out of him Grissom fell back on the chair across Brass's desk. "Mexico?" he repeated, bringing his hand to his face. "Are you sure?"

"Course I'm sure," Brass said irritably. "I personally had someone take him over to the border, and I have a flag on him if he tries to get back."

"But why did you let him go?" Grissom asked dejectedly. He looked up, eyes beseeching. "There was enough evidence to convict him. Sara had left us ― she'd done enough to…she's never going to get retribution for what he did to her. She's never going to find closure…" He stood up and began pacing in front of the desk.

Brass felt for his friend, he really did, but he was also finding it hard to contain his frustration at his accusations and lack of impartiality. The blame didn't lie solely with him, and sadly the words were out before he could censor them. "You've got nobody to blame but yourself for that," he snapped angrily.

Grissom rounded wide incredulous eyes on him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't look at me as if I'm the one at fault here," Brass said in a raised, exasperated voice. He stood up so sharply that his chair rolled back. He wiped a rough hand over his face and then lifted sad eyes to Grissom, his head shaking with disbelief. "Have you conveniently erased from your memory that little vigilante act of yours?"

Grissom dropped his eyes, but not before Brass glimpsed shame in them.

"What, did you think he wouldn't know who you were?" he continued quietly. "Did you think he wouldn't rat you out first chance he got and get himself a deal? Yeah, I cut him a deal, what else could I do? He said Sara's attack was a robbery gone wrong and with McKay and his brother dead we had nothing more to charge him with."

Grissom's eyes were fixed to a point in the middle distance; his mouth twitched up nervously as his fingers clenched. "I should have finished the job when I had the chance," he muttered, as if talking to himself.

The thought chilled Brass to the bone. His stare hardened. "I'll pretend I never heard that," he said sternly.

Grissom's cell rang again, startling them both, and Brass took advantage of the interruption to take a calming breath. Loosening his tie and top button he watched as the CSI snatched the phone out of his pocket and after a glance at the display jabbed a sharp thumb on the key diverting the call to voicemail.

"Gil," he said, "do you think I made the decision to let him go lightly? You know I love Sara like she was my daughter and it broke my heart what happened to her. Seeing her lying there in that park…I can't get the pictures out of my head." His voice broke with emotion and he turned away. "But I had no choice, Gil. You left me no choice. He was starting to talk, say things I couldn't believe were true and yet…" Brass closed his eyes and sucked in a fraught breath but before he could speak again Grissom's phone rang again.

Cursing under his breath Grissom once again checked the display before diverting the call to voicemail. "Catherine again," he said with a frown. "Lindsey must have told her about this afternoon." His puzzled frown morphed into a grimace, a disbelieving sneer forming on his lips. "She knew, didn't she?" He sighed, and shook his head, looking dejected and betrayed at the realisation. "She knew about Wallis, and she didn't tell me either."

"She didn't know until the deal was done, and believe me she wasn't happy about it. But if I hadn't cut him loose," Brass said, his voice just above a whisper, "you wouldn't have seen Sara again, not for a very long time. You'd have been behind bars with those crooks, those bastards you've dedicated your life to putting away. I couldn't have that, Gil. I couldn't have you in jail, not while you thought Sara was dying, and not when we knew she was coming back to us."

Grissom sat down onto Brass's couch, and closed his eyes. His head bowed low between his legs, in his hands.

Brass joined his friend on the couch. "What if you were in jail now, huh?" he went on calmly, looking at the floor in front of him. There was no antagonism or anger in his voice now, just sad realism. "What would become of her? Laura's got a fight on her hands with her son anyway, and without your support..." he paused and blinked the moisture forming in his eyes at the next thought. "How do you expect me to be able to go and visit Sara, and look at her in the eyes, knowing I could have prevented that from happening?" He turned toward his friend. "He had us over a barrel, Gil. If the allegations had been made public you'd have lost your integrity and reputation, your pension and medical insurance, and possibly your freedom and ultimately you'd have lost what you hold dearest, Sara."

Grissom's head came up, and he lifted broken eyes, eyes full of tears and regret, and Brass sighed. "You could have told me," he said in a fraught breath. He blinked and pinched his lips. "You could have given me a heads-up. That's what friends do."

"Friends look out for each other, Gil, as best they can," Brass countered, "and that's what I did."

"What am I going to do, Jim?" Grissom lamented. "Just when I thought things were finally looking up."

"What happened to your car changes nothing." Brass's arm came up, clasping Grissom over the shoulder. "You forget about Wallis and concentrate on Sara, like you've been doing."

Grissom rubbed his hand over his eyes. He was about to speak when his cell chirped with a text message and he sighed. "She won't give up, will she?" he said, pulling out his phone and checking the display. "It's from Greg. He must have finished comparing the CCTV footages." He tapped a few keys, opening the text.

"So? Was I right? Or was I right?"

Grissom's shoulder rose. "He can't tell for sure." He looked up, giving Brass a small twitch of his lip as a smile. "He's emailed me the shots but I won't be able to get a clear look at them on the phone." He put the cell back in his pocket and brought a weary hand to his face, wiping his eyes again.

Brass got up from the couch and moving to his computer closed the spreadsheet document he'd been working on. "Be my guest," he said, opening his hand toward the computer.

Glancing up with surprise Grissom strode to the desk, logged into his CSI e-mail account and retrieved Greg's message. Attached were four blurry, enlarged to the maximum, black and white shots of someone who _could_ be Wallis.

"What do you think?" Grissom asked. "You saw him up close too."

Brass leaned in over Grissom's shoulder, his hand instinctively coming up to his still sore nose. "Yeah, too goddam close for comfort." He studied the shots and shook his head. "Told you, if Wallis knows what's right for him, he's going to learn Spanish and keep his ass in Mexico."

"I was so sure," Grissom said in a murmur. Staring blindly at the computer screen, he covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head. "But if it's not him," he said, refocusing on Brass, "then who?"

Brass's shoulder rose. "That, I don't know." With a small smile he patted his friend on the shoulder. "Let me give you a ride home," he said. "I'll bring the scotch."

Grissom checked his watch with a start. "I can't. I said I'd pick Laura up at the bus station ten minutes ago."

"Do you want me to do it? Where is she staying?"

"With me. At the house."

* * *

><p>AN: A huge thank you again to everyone for the amazing and continued support with this sequel. It's very much appreciated. Keep your ideas and words of encouragement coming please, I need them.

And if you've never left a review, or haven't for a while, consider doing it, it doesn't have to be long! :-)


	24. Chapter 24

Grissom turned the key in the lock, opening the door to much eager whimpering and frantic tail wagging. Despite his tiredness a smile spread across his face at the warm welcome. His hand lowered to Hank's muzzle, stroking fondly before gently pushing him out of the way to let Laura in. Hank's focus shifted and he paused, his ears pricking up as he caught sight of the older woman at the threshold.

"I never thought to ask you," Grissom said suddenly, looking over his shoulder, "You don't…mind dogs, do you?"

"No, I don't," Laura replied, laughing as she bent down to greet the boxer with a good rub around the ears. "So, you're the famous Hank, are you? Sara's told me a lot about you. I'm her mom. Nice to meet you too."

She straightened up, and smiling Grissom nudged Hank out of the way and motioned with his hand that she should step in so he could shut the door. Laura had insisted she could carry her small suitcase in and she clutched it with both hands as she scanned appraising eyes over the interior of the house, taking in the multi-level rooms with an appreciative purse of her mouth.

She turned and smiled, her eyes shining with emotion. "Thank you for letting me stay here with you," she said, and cleared her throat. "I just…wish we were doing this with Sara."

Her mention of Sara caught him off guard. Swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat he turned away and under the disguise of taking off his jacket took a few breaths and a moment to regain his composure. "Let me show you to the spare room," he then said, keeping his back to her. "I've…made up the bed for you, but the room's still in a bit of a mess, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure it'll trump the Four Aces by a long way," she said in a small voice. The tone was all wrong, and he knew her play on words was a sad attempt at diffusing the awkwardness she had created.

He turned back toward her but still unable to meet her eye acknowledged her words with a half-smile and preceded her down the steps, indicating the kitchen, the bathroom and his and Sara's bedroom on the way over. At the end of the corridor he paused and braced himself before opening the door to the second bedroom that up to then had doubled up as Sara's space.

"Make yourself at home," he said with a heavy heart. He gave the room a quick onceover, making sure he had tidied up all of Sara's more personal things.

"You've got a lovely home, Mr Grissom," she said as she set her case down on the old sofa he'd made up into a bed.

He turned his face away, blinking back his emotion. "Thank you, but it's all Sara. She just…fell in love with the place," he heard himself say, a small wistful smile unexpectedly lighting his face at the recollection of the day they'd viewed the house for the first time. Our house, she'd immediately said in a wondrous gasp on stepping over the threshold, and he'd tightened his hold on her fingers in silent agreement.

The house phone began to ring and, when lost in his memories Grissom made no move to answer it, Laura dipped her head in front of him, smiling as she said, "You're not picking up?"

He gave his head a shake, refocusing, and thinking it Catherine on the phone again replied in the negative. "The machine will get it."

"You're okay?" she asked, watching him with concern. "Only I can't help noticing you seem a little…preoccupied."

"I'm just tired, that's all. It's been long day." He flashed a brief smile and turned, making to leave. "I'm going to go take Hank for a walk, clear my head a little, and then I'll need to pop back to Torrey Pines. You need anything?"

"Is something the matter with Sara?" she asked with sudden alarm.

"No," he said quickly, "I just forgot something. You're going to be okay if I leave you?"

"Sure. I'll just…grab a shower, and then set about making us some dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I am," she quipped back with a bright smile.

He froze, transfixed by the sense of déjà-vu that flashed in front of his eyes but instead of Laura, it was Sara standing there in this very room with that same cheeky grin that had a way of…dancing on her lips. His heart tightened with pain and he fought back another surge of tears. Maybe having Laura stay at the townhouse with him was a mistake, he thought sadly, her presence only serving to remind him how lonely he felt.

"There are fresh towels in the cupboard in the bathroom," he said hastily, trying to hide his sudden distress, and then turned on his heels, leaving her to unpack. He reached the kitchen just as the answering machine kicked in. Sara's cheery voice filled the silence, causing his heart to stand still. Quickly he picked up Hank's leash, giving the boxer a shrill whistle as he opened the front door, leaving just as the beep sounded.

"Matthew Sidle here," the voice said. "Sara's brother. I'm in Vegas. We need to talk. Call me on 310 – 555 – 6472."

* * *

><p>"I was checking on the patients when security informed me we had an intruder on the premises," said a quiet, amused voice behind him.<p>

Startled out of his wits, Grissom whipped his head round, his face registering relief as he saw who the voice belonged to. Metcalf had been called back to his normal duties so Grissom had made it his personal business to make sure that night-time security at Torrey Pines was better than during the day. Hiding in the shadows he had tried every door and window that he could reach, checking they were indeed closed and locked as per Centre policy. He'd known he'd been rumbled when he heard the whirring of a CCTV camera as it tracked his movements but since he wouldn't find peace of mind until he was absolutely satisfied that Sara was as safe as possible he'd ignored it and carried on.

Slowly he moved out from behind the bushes and took a second to brush himself down before meeting the doctor's eye. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," he said somewhat sheepishly.

"Neither should you." Doctor Williamson pointed his finger toward the black ball housing the security camera overhead. "Lucky they saw who you were before they called your colleagues at the police department," he replied good-humouredly, "thus saving you a lot more embarrassment." He paused, his eyes narrowing with interest. "Mr Grissom, what are you doing here at this time of night?"

Grissom winced. "This isn't how it looks."

The doctor chuckled. "Are you telling you weren't trying to find a way to break into Sara's room?" Grissom's eyes averted to the ground, the hint of a smile forming on his lips despite his embarrassment. "Aren't you a little old for these games?"

Grissom looked up. "No," he said, then shook his head, "I mean, yes." He lifted his hand in front of him in a placatory gesture, indicating that given the chance he would explain, and Dr Williamson indicated with a nod of his head and a twitch of his lips that he was free to proceed. "I was merely checking out security at the Centre."

Dr Williamson's expression shifted, his former look of amusement making way to puzzlement, then to affront. "Security? Our security system is top-notch. I'll have you know we have one of the best systems in operation here at Torrey Pines and in the ten years we have been in business no instances of break-ins whatsoever."

"What about breakouts?" Grissom asked levelly.

The doctor did a double take. "Breakouts?" He laughed. "Why would anyone want to break out? This isn't High Desert State Prison, Mr Grissom." There was a pause and then, "Is this to do with what happened with your car this afternoon? I'm very sorry about that, but sadly there is nothing we can do against vandals. I understand our security team gave your office their full cooperation and access to security videotapes."

Grissom lifted his hand in apology. "They did. They did. I'm sorry I didn't mean to imply…This isn't about what happened to the car. Well, not as such anyway."

Dr Williamson let out a long sigh. "Then what is this about?"

Grissom opened his mouth to explain and then shut it and sighed. Maybe he was overreacting. If he'd been upfront with Sara from the start after all she wouldn't have felt the need to come out to the lot after him and see for herself, hence putting herself in jeopardy. And maybe his night-time foraging wasn't to do with security at all, but more with his longing, his physical need to see Sara and be with her, and to apologise.

He was about to make a pitiful U-turn and say that he'd made a mistake when watching him cautiously the doctor said, "This door over there, nearest to Sara's room, is alarmed at night, as are all the access doors to the various building. The emergency doors work differently and are alarmed at all times. The only way in or out at this time of night is through the main entrance at the front, but again as the doors are locked at night you'd need to get the guard to physically open them for you."

"Sara managed to get out through this door yesterday afternoon," Grissom said.

"On her own?" Dr Williamson asked with incredulity.

"No," Grissom admitted in a small chuckle. "She had help."

"An employee?" the doctor exclaimed, "someone on our staff?"

"No. One of her visitors."

Looking puzzled the doctor shook his head. "How did they get the code? I mean the doors are all self-closing and locking, and fitted with codes and without them-"

"Evidently, Sara knew the code and got Lindsey to tap it in for her."

Dr Williamson's mouth pursed with what looked like admiration. "In a way it shows that her cognitive abilities are still intact, and the glasses doing their job." Grissom pulled face at the doctor's words, causing the latter to let out a long weary sigh. "Mr Grissom," he said, "our security system is meant to keep people out, not in. Our patients are not prisoners. But I understand your fears. I'll speak to my staff, make sure they are careful not to be overseen when they tap in the various codes, but I'm more concerned about Sara trying to get out."

"Well, I think that might have been a one off, and partly my fault."

"Still, it was concerning enough to you that you took it upon yourself to come here in the dead of the night and make sure she is safe. If Sara is going to find ways to try to…abscond," the doctor went on in a serious tone before Grissom had time to object to his first statement, "we are going to need to speak to her. Explain to her why it's not safe."

"By _we_, you mean me."

"No." He smiled warmly. "Should we…maybe discuss this while we go back to the front of the building?"

Grissom gave one last look toward Sara's room window, wishing he didn't have to wait until the next day to see her and make sure she was alright, and then back to the doctor. He nodded, and a smile of amusement on his lips the latter clasped his hand over Grissom's shoulder, guiding him out of the flowerbeds and back onto the path.

"I don't know the details of Sara's attack," he began saying as they walked, "but I watch the news. I know Sara doesn't remember what happened to her, and probably won't but-"

"She doesn't know she was attacked," Grissom interjected. "She thinks―well,_ I_ told her she'd had an accident."

The doctor nodded his head in understanding. "And are you worried that she might be targeted again? I mean, I understand she too worked in law-enforcement."

"It's complicated," he said in a sigh.

"We need to know, Mr Grissom. We have many live-in patients like Sara who are most vulnerable, and it is our duty, _my_ duty, to guaranty their safety."

Grissom scratched his head. "We know that her attack wasn't random and sadly one of the guys is still at large. We have it under good authority though that he's left the country," he hastened to add lest he unnecessarily alarm the doctor, "but..."

"But you are a suspicious man," the doctor stated knowingly.

"It comes with the job, I'm afraid."

Dr Williamson gave a thoughtful nod and they carried on walking in silence. "Oh, by the way," he said as they came to a stop at the main entrance, "Sara's brother was here earlier."

Grissom's head whipped round toward the doctor. "He spoke with Sara?"

"He went to see her, but I think she was sleeping."

Or, she faked it, Grissom thought.

"According to the log he only stayed a few minutes."

Grissom sighed, nodding, and watched as the doctor rapped his knuckles over the plate glass, getting the attention of the guard sitting at the reception desk. The latter jumped to his feet, quickly ambling his way over to the right-hand side of the doors. He inserted a large key into the pad housing the locking mechanism, then tapped in a code. The doors immediately slid open. Taking his cue Grissom made to leave.

"See," the doctor said, and Grissom turned back, "Bar an emergency, this is the only way in and out at this time of night." Turning to the guard he motioned toward Grissom. "I've found our intruder, Bill. It would seem Mr Grissom doesn't trust our security system." The guard chuckled politely. "We won't be five minutes, and then Mr Grissom will leave the way he came in."

Grissom lifted a placatory hand. "It's okay. I've seen enough."

Dr Williamson smiled a knowing a smile, then beckoned Grissom to follow him as he set off across the lobby. Grissom did as bid, thinking them headed to the security room with the CCTV monitors. "I quite like doing the late shift," the doctor said, his voice a hushed whisper, as they rounded the corner into the corridor leading to Sara's room. Grissom's face creased in a frown. "It gives me plenty of time to catch up on everything undisturbed." He stopped outside Sara's door. "You've got two minutes while I check on the patient next door. And then I'll escort you back out."

Grissom stared at the doctor with surprise, and then a slow smile spread across his face. "Thank you," he said, his heart suddenly beating in his mouth.

"I've only just checked in on her myself, so I know she's sleeping."

Grissom's smile widened. "I won't make a sound, I promise."

Dr Williamson used his pass to let him into the room and Grissom turned, nodding his thanks as he gently pushed the door open. The blinds were pulled, the room in complete darkness but for a small nightlight left on at the head of the bed. Was it so the staff could find their way around the room when they did their night-time checks? he wondered. Or was it to hide a more sinister truth, a truth Sara didn't want him to know. He thought of her nightmares, the night terrors that would sometimes plague her sleep and his heart clenched with sadness at what he couldn't do for her anymore.

Noiselessly he shut the door and took a couple of hesitant steps in, then stopped. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful as she lay there sleeping, and for a moment he remained rooted to the spot as he listened to the regular heavy breaths escaping from her parted lips. Her head was turned toward him as if she'd fallen asleep watching the door, waiting for him to come. And maybe she had, he figured. A quiet noise from the corridor startled him and he checked over his shoulder, expecting the door to open, cutting short his visit all too soon.

It didn't, and hesitantly he crept to her side, the small smile curling his lip growing bigger the nearer he got. He stopped to watch her sleep, and reaching across a trembling hand he pushed away a tendril of hair that had fallen over her eyes, feather-light fingers lingering on her skin, needing, craving the contact. The touch, the feel of her warm body was almost too much to bear, and he closed his eyes at the surge of love that engulfed him.

God, he missed her, so much it ached. He couldn't imagine what his life would be now if she hadn't made it. His eyes prickled with tears at the thought that he had almost lost her, at the thought of how vulnerable she was still, how defenceless, and of how little he could do to protect her. Leaning down he brushed soft lips against her forehead, keeping his mouth there a little too long. Sara stirred and he pulled back with a jolt, a ready smile on his lips lest she awoke, scared and startled by the intrusion. She didn't.

"Sleep tight, my beating heart," he whispered, bringing his lips to her skin again. His heart tight in his chest he quietly stepped back and turned to leave.

"Gil…Don't be sad. I'm still here."

The breath caught in his throat at the sweet murmur of her voice. He paused and gave his head a shake, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him again as it often was wont to do before. He took a shaky breath and another step toward the door.

"Don't leave. Stay."

He stopped and turned, a quivering smile forming on his lips as he realised that the voice was real and not a figment of his imagination. Sleepy eyes were watching him, lit up with love.

"What, no ice cream?" she quipped tenderly, when he had no words to offer her.

"No," he said in a small, disbelieving chuckle. Striding back to the bed he slipped his hand through the bedrail and curled his fingers around hers. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you."

"Is it morning?" she asked in a whisper.

He shook his head softly. "Still night."

She blinked. "Is this another dream?"

"No," he said his smile widening. "It's not a dream, sweetheart." He gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm here."

"You come often in my dreams," she said musingly.

He pinched his lips and blew out a breath, willing his tears away. "You come into mine too. All the time. But this is real."

Her eyes drifting shut she gave a weak nod on the pillow. "Don't be scared," she said in an inaudible murmur. "You won't lose me again. I've made it this far; I'm not going anywhere."

He gasped, blinking hard at her words. How did she know? Her eyes reopened, her smile trembling as she watched the emotion reflected in his face and he felt weak fingers curl around his.

"I'm sorry about this afternoon," he said. "I didn't mean to be-"

She made a shushing sound and shook her head. "No, Gil. Not now. Tomorrow. Now, I'm sleeping; I'm…dreaming a beautiful dream."

"Okay," he said softly, smiling. "We'll talk tomorrow." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I got to go now anyway."

"No." Her eyes snapped open. "Stay. Please, stay. Lay down beside me."

His face softened with love. "Oh, honey, I'd love nothing more than to be able to spend the night here with you, but I can't. I shouldn't even be here now. You go back to sleep, I'll stay until they kick me out."

He let go of her hand long enough to pull the chair up to the head of the bed and lower the bedrail so he could lay his head onto the edge of the pillow next to hers. Then he picked up her hand again, clasping it tightly over her chest.

"Sleep tight my beating heart," he repeated tenderly, his voice a murmur in her ear. "I love you."

"It's like in my dreams," she whispered, a peaceful smile to her lips as she drifted off to sleep, and he closed his eyes, content and finally at peace, home.


	25. Chapter 25

"Catherine, you're off early today!"

Catherine turned round with a start to find Ecklie casually leaning on the doorjamb of her office. Hands in his pants pocket he had a pleasant smile on his lips, and she couldn't help wondering how long he'd been standing there watching her. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I'm on time, you mean," she retorted somewhat uncertainly, ignoring the jovial tone of his remark.

His smile stiffening he raised an appeasing hand. "I was…joking, Catherine. I know how hard you've been working since...well, over these last few weeks. It's―it's been noted."

Catherine gave him a solemn nod of acknowledgement. Then she turned back toward the pocket mirror in her hand and finished touching her hair and makeup, a small smile of gratification pulling at her lips at his discomfiture. "I'm on my way to see Grissom actually," she said as she looked over her shoulder, feeling uncomfortable at the fact that he was still openly staring at her. "He's not-" Pausing, she flipped her compact shut, tossed it in the open purse sitting on her desk and swivelled on her heels toward him. "What can I do for you, Conrad?"

"I've…" He shook his head, refocusing, "I've had an idea, which I wanted to run by you. But you know what? It'll keep until tomorrow. You go see Grissom." Smiling he pushed off the doorframe and made to leave, then turned back. "Pass on my best wishes, will you? And tell him I'll give him a call about next week soon."

The crease on Catherine's brow was deep and bewildered, but she was in a hurry and didn't probe further. "Thank you," she said as he left, then kicked herself for it. What was she thanking him for? Leaving on time? She watched him amble down the corridor, but his odd behaviour had piqued her curiosity, getting the better of her. Grabbing her purse and jacket she trotted after him. "Conrad," she said reaching his side, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

He gave her a sideways glance and smiled. "It's about Sara," he said a little diffidently.

Catherine stopped in her tracks. "Sara?"

Ecklie paused and turned. He shrugged. "I was thinking – well, really I wanted your opinion on something."

"Go on."

He nodded, then looked down to his feet. "This facility she's in," he said, glancing up, "doesn't come cheap, as I'm sure you know, and well since the attack didn't happen while she was on the job she won't be getting any compensation and…" he shook his head and grimaced, "I don't know. Grissom would never agree to it, anyway."

Catherine switched foot, all ears now. "Agree to what?"

He cast a furtive gaze up and down the corridor. "A fundraising event – a ball maybe or something more low key-" His smile tensed at the look of surprise that crossed her face and he back-pedalled. "You don't think it's a good idea; that's fine. It was just a thought."

"On the contrary, Conrad," she said, overcoming her initial shock. "I think it's a great idea, but you're right Grissom would never agree to it."

"Ah, well."

"But he doesn't need to know, does he?" she said, almost to herself, her eyes focusing on a point in the middle distance. She could see it already: black tie, dinner and dance, maybe a show afterwards, a big name. Celine… Would Sam let them use the conference room at the Tangiers? "Leave it with me," she said brightly, absently patting the lab director on the arm at the thoughts swirling in her head as she broke away, "I'll get back to you."

Heels happily click-clacking down the corridor Catherine pulled her sunglasses out of her purse, slipping them on as the early morning sunshine hit her face. A fundraising ball, what a brilliant idea! Now, why hadn't she thought of that herself?

The drive to Grissom's house was strangely clear of traffic and she made it in no time at all. She'd tried his cell, leaving message after message filling his voicemail facility, same for the house phone but he had never picked up and eventually she'd given up. He was mad at her and she could understand that. If the roles were reversed she would be fuming.

Now standing at his door she didn't expect to make it past the threshold; hell, she'd be lucky if he didn't slam the door in her face. But still she had to try and make him understand why she hadn't told him about Wallis. She had her index finger poised on the doorbell when the words he'd spoken to her about Lily seeing Sam behind her back replayed in her head. _You're my friend, Catherine, and friends don't hide things from each other._ Letting out a long sigh she looked down to her feet, her hand hesitantly lowering from the door.

"It's not like you to chicken out."

She jumped; her hand flew to her chest. "Jesus, Gil, don't do this to people!" Blowing out a short breath she whipped round toward him. "You scared the living daylight out of me."

Grissom smiled, the corner of his lips twitching up in amusement. Understanding that his creeping up on her had been deliberate Catherine pulled a face in mock offence but couldn't help feeling relieved at his apparent friendliness.

"I wasn't chickening out," she said, her expression becoming serious now. She shrugged and slid her sunglasses to the top of her head. "I was…well, I just needed another pep talk."

"That bad, huh?" he said, brushing past her and inserting the key in the lock.

She sighed and leaning down took a moment to return Hank's joyful greeting by giving him a good rub around the ears. "Listen, Gil, I'm sorry," she said, quickly slipping in behind him through the open door before he had a change of heart and shut it in her face. "I feel awful. I know I should have told you about Wallis being out." She sighed. "I do but…well, I promised Brass and-"

He turned, his brow raised, and closed the door after her. "And that ever stopped you in the past, did it?"

She lifted an apologetic shoulder. "He made some very valid points, Gil," she said, treading carefully, mindful not to rile him up.

Without another word or look in her direction, Grissom tossed his keys on the table by the door and divested himself of his coat before finally taking Hank off his leash. Catherine watched helplessly as man and dog walked side by side down the steps to the kitchen. At least he was talking to her, she thought letting out an inward sigh, and she'd made it through the door.

"You're disappointed," she stated as she dumped her purse on the floor and followed him down the steps. "And you've got every right to be. I've let you down."

Grissom didn't say anything, which made her feel worse, which she figured was his intention. He quietly refilled Hank's water bowl before turning to the stove and taking the lid off a simmering pan. Picking up a ladle on the side he gave the liquid a deliberately slow stir, and Catherine understood that although he was open to talking he was still angry and wouldn't make it easy for her.

The smell of soup filled the air making Catherine's stomach rumble. She frowned with puzzlement and craned her neck, taking a peek. "You're making soup?" she asked with surprise. "At this time in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep," he replied with an easy shrug, adding pointedly, "and it's helping quieten my mind."

Her hand moved to his arm. "Gil…"

"Yes, Catherine," he said abruptly, and she drew her hand back at his sharp tone. "I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed you didn't feel it…appropriate to tell me – your friend – that the man that…that…put Sara in hospital was out." His voice had been steadily rising and he took a fraught breath in through his nose. "If I can't count on you and Brass who can I count on, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"I feel more than let down, Catherine," he continued, his tone stern, chastising, "I feel betrayed, for myself and Sara."

Strangely Catherine felt reassured by Grissom's outburst, at the fact that he was finally opening up and talking about his feelings rather than bottling them up as he had recently been doing. Maybe at long last she could talk to him about her own fears for him, fears that she'd kept quiet for too long for the same reasons she hadn't told him about Wallis. She'd looked it up. Put in the sum of the symptoms his behaviour displayed, her heart sinking at what she'd come up with.

"But I'm not angry," he said at last, sighing. "I was. Last night, I was." He paused and shrugged, and turned to face her. "But I've thought about it and well I think I understand where you and Brass were coming from."

Catherine brow shot up. "You do?"

"Isn't that exactly what I've been doing with Sara?"

His words gave Catherine pause and she nodded. "I'm glad you're bringing it up, Gil, because I've been thinking about it a lot." She stopped, unsure, still hesitant to overstep the mark and upset their newly-found balance.

"Go on," he said levelly.

"You think I could get a cup of coffee first?" she asked, her voice overly-sweet.

Grissom pulled a face, but obliged, taking a cup from the overhead cupboard and filling it up with coffee from the pot. Silently he handed it to her, and meeting his gaze as she took it she smiled her thanks.

"Sara needs protecting, yes," she said, swallowing her first sip, "but not from life. Not from her life – or her past anyway." Grissom refocused his attention on the soup but he didn't tell her to stop and mind her own business, and taking that as her cue to carry on she added softly, "You can't keep her in a bubble for the rest of her life, Gil. Sara won't let you, and besides you'd just end up stifling her and making her miserable, and I know that's not what you want. You―all of us hold the key to unlocking her missing years."

Grissom sighed. "Have you quite finished?" he asked, turning and meeting her gaze dead on.

"No," she said quietly, yet holding his gaze unwaveringly. She smiled affectionately; there was so much she still wanted to tell him, so much she was keeping back. She chose her next words carefully. "Sara's resilient and coping remarkably well with the changes in her life. I think she needs to know. I think you need to tell her what happened."

He nodded and lowered his gaze. "I know. I know she does." He looked up, and Catherine couldn't help looking surprised at his admission. "I'm going to tell her, but not everything. There are certain things I won't be able to…" Blinking he turned away, letting his words trail off with a sigh. "But I need her to know about Wallis being out so she doesn't unnecessarily put herself in danger like she did this afternoon."

Catherine winced. "About that," she said, "I'm sorry. I spoke to Lindsey about it and she understands that what she did was wrong."

Grissom shrugged. "It wasn't her fault. How was she to know? She was good to Sara; they seem to have a special bond."

"That neither of us knew anything about." Shaking her head, she smiled and took another sip of her coffee, then glanced at the simmering pot. "Soup for breakfast?" she asked.

"It's for Sara's lunch," he said, calmer now, and gave a wistful smile that Catherine knew wasn't directed at her but rather at some thought that had crossed his mind. "I thought, you know, hospital food being what it is." He scooped a little liquid and brought it to his lips. "It's a little bland, but well, she's on a strict diet. And it's ready," he said, turning the heat off.

"She's doing so well, Gil, in so little time." She stood up on her tiptoes, peering over his shoulder. "You ought to be really proud."

"Oh, I am."

Her hand moving to his shoulder Catherine gave him a grateful smile. "I don't know what I was expecting," she said, "But this wasn't it."

His face softened. "Sara said something last night that's given me a little perspective." Catherine frowned but before she could query his words he nodded at the soup saying, "You want some?"

Stepping back from him, Catherine shook her head. "I'll stick to coffee if you don't mind." A door banged shut in the background and frowning she turned toward the sound. "Who's here, Gil?"

"Laura," he said, reaching for the blender.

"She's staying here with you?" The surprise was undisguised in her tone.

"You don't think it appropriate?" he asked, pausing.

"Hum, no. I'm just surprised, that's all. It's so-"

"Uncharacteristic?"

She smiled at his choice of word. "Yes."

"Hotels are expensive and money is tight," he said, keeping his eyes on what he was doing.

Mentioning Laura had set him on edge, she could tell. It didn't take much to set him off these days, but Laura's presence was a blessing in disguise. She watched as he began transferring soup into the blender and pondering his words wandered over to the book shelves, casting her eye over the books on display, the many framed insects and various photographs. One photo in particular caught her attention and wanting a closer look at it she put her cup down and reached for it. It was a particularly stunning landscape shot of a snow-covered peak on Mount Charleston set against a red sunset sky.

"You took this?" she asked with surprise, studying the picture as she turned back toward him.

"Can you not―can you put it back, please?"

Catherine snapped her head up, startled by the quiet distress in his voice.

He flashed a tense smile, sad eyes dropping to the photo in her hand. "It's Sara's. She took it and…"

She followed his gaze. "I'm sorry," she said and turned, gently putting the photo back on the shelf. "It's beautiful. I didn't know she was talented like that."

He joined her side and picked up the photo, smiling as he lovingly brushed his thumb over it. "She took it last February. We'd gone up for the afternoon, hiking. It was one of these cold but very clear days where the sun just was this perfect red ball lighting up the clouds as it set." He looked about to say more but then swallowed and put the frame back on the shelf.

"Gil, I'm sorry." She put a comforting hand on his arm. "You're okay?"

He gave her a stiff nod, then walked back to tend to the soup. A door opened and Catherine turned toward it, watching as Laura came in, dressed but with a towel wrapped around her head. Immediately picking up on the mood the older woman's smile morphed into a frown and she threw Catherine a guarded look, inquiring with her eyes whether she was interrupting.

Catherine glanced at Grissom who had his back to them, then gave Laura a brief shake of the head. "Hello, Laura," she said a little too brightly. "Nice to see you again."

"You too, Catherine," Laura said, her eyes narrowing with concern at Grissom.

He turned just as Catherine was asking, "You're staying long?"

"Just for the weekend. I'm due back at work on Monday."

"Laura," Grissom said, "you want some coffee? I've just made a fresh pot."

She shook her head with a smile, then brought a self-conscious hand to her head. "I didn't bring my hairdryer along and I was wondering if you had one I could borrow."

He paused. "Sure," he said at last, glancing at Catherine out of the corner of his eyes as if knowing she was watching him for his reaction. "I'll get you Sara's. It's in the master bathroom."

A forlorn look on his face Grissom followed Laura out, and Catherine set about tidying the worktop. She let out a long sigh, troubled by his reaction to her simply handling a picture Sara had taken. Could she be right?

"So when's the cast coming off?" she asked with fake-casualness when he returned.

"Wednesday."

"Oh, so you've been to see your physician then?" She scrunched her eyes shut, kicking herself for the overly keen tone in her voice.

Grissom whipped his body round, immediately suspicious. "Come on Catherine, out with it. What's on your mind?"

She sighed and met his eye dead on. He'd been so emotional recently, one minute tearful, the next angry and fearful, overprotective to the point of almost paranoia, and she could see it clearly now, in the quiver in his eyes, the quiver of his lips, of his clenched fist. She lowered her gaze briefly. "I was simply wondering whether you've considered seeing someone."

"Seeing someone?"

"You know, a professional, someone you could talk to about…everything."

"A therapist?" He let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm fine, Catherine. Stop making like all this is about me."

"It's just that…well, it's nearly been six weeks since Sara woke and instead of getting better emotionally it seems like you're getting worse. You're on edge all the time, every little thing sets you off. You're protective of Sara to the point of being…" she stopped short, replacing 'paranoid' with "over-vigilant and short with people who dare question your judgement."

"Are you talking about that thing with Greg?" he asked, voice rising full of disbelief. "I've apologised to him about that."

"It helped Nick a lot after his ordeal," she tried again quietly.

"This is hardly the same thing, Catherine," he countered sharply. He checked himself, then glanced toward the back of the house and lowered his voice. "What I'm going through is totally different."

"Yes, it is," she conceded, then paused. "I've looked into it, Gil and-"

"Into what?"

She closed her eyes, the breath she exhaled long and wary. "Post-traumatic stress disorder."

His eyes widened with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Gil, you're a gentle and sensitive man who has been through a terrible ordeal both physically and emotionally, having to cope not only with your own physical injuries but also with what happened to Sara." She paused, her shoulders rising helplessly. "Remember you almost died yourself. I know you're worried about Sara and that she's your priority but you must make some time to look after yourself too."

"I am doing," he said at last. "I'm here, back home with Hank, cooking soup for Sara." He shrugged. "I'm still adjusting to all the changes, that's all. I'll admit that it's taking me a little time but…PTSD?"

"Okay, maybe you're right," she conceded, "maybe I was jumping the gun a little and you're still _adjusting_, but it wouldn't hurt you to see someone."

"I'll think about it," he grudgingly said, forming his lips into that small cheeky smile that she knew was meant to assuage of all her fears. "Besides, would I be coming back to CSI if I wasn't okay?"

His question took the wind out of her sails. "You're coming back?"

His shoulder lifted. "If you'll have me back, of course."

"If it means I can finally look forward to a night off, of course I'll have you back." She covered the distance to him and closed her arms around him. "I've missed you. We all have." She pulled back. "But surely you're not coming back in a full capacity, are you?"

"No," he said. "Ecklie's agreed my conditions. I'll stay at the lab and do all your favourite jobs. It'll free you up to go out in the field and give the guys a break. I hear Greg's had to work a lot of doubles recently."

"They all have." Their eyes locked and she grinned. "Welcome back," she said, opening her arms again and wrapping him into another warm, tight embrace, thinking how much easier it would be to keep an eye on him from then on.

He had just finished mixing the soup when his cell rang. Wiping his hands he reached for the device on the island unit. His smile vanished as he checked the display and with a fearful look in her direction connected the call with a wary, "Grissom." The colour drained from his face as he listened to the voice on the other end, the quivering of his lip, of his hand and in his eyes returning. Blowing out a shaky breath he closed his eyes and nodded his head. "Tell him I'll meet him there."

"Sara?" she asked unnecessarily when he hung up.

He looked up at her, devastation written all over his face, and slowly nodded his head. "She―she's being rushed to Desert Palm," he said, his voice breaking.

"I'll drive," she said, touching him on the arm and offering a small smile that hopefully conveyed all she wasn't able to say with words at this moment in time.


	26. Chapter 26

"Laura!" Grissom called loudly as the words from the clerk replayed in his head. He set about tidying the kitchen. "Laura!"

"What's happened?" Catherine asked in a distressed voice. "What did they say?"

He gave a shake of the head but didn't reply. Feeling that something was wrong Hank was in his feet, following his every move, whimpering and Grissom pushed him aside, reaching in a cupboard for the bag of doggy biscuits. "I've got to go and see Sara," he told the boxer quietly, trying his best to control his anguish. He held out the treat which Hank was more than happy to accept. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Man and dog watched each other for a moment, then Hank turned away and tail wagging headed for his basket. Grissom stood rooted to the spot, staring blindly at the floor, his thoughts running away from him.

Catherine's hand moved to his shoulder. "What's happened?" she asked again, gently, startling him back to the present. He turned heartbroken eyes toward her but before he could tell her Laura came in, a shy quizzical smile on her face.

"Everything okay?" she asked, unaware. He caught her eye, causing her face to fall abruptly. A look of intense pain filled her eyes, her hand lifted to her mouth. She didn't need words to know. "Oh, dear God, Sara," she gasped.

"They're taking her to Desert Palm," he said deliberately quietly so as not to alarm her any more than she already was. He blew out a breath, willing the tremor in his voice, in his body to still. "We need to go now."

"I'll…I'll just grab my things," she said, scurrying back to her room.

By the time Grissom had the house locked up Catherine's SUV was idling in the drive, Laura sitting in the back seat. Her hands were clasped tightly together on her lap, anxious gaze looking through the car window, steadfast on a point in the middle distance. She was barely keeping it together.

"What's happened?" Catherine asked again as she backed out of 2205 Beach Front Drive at great speed. Accelerating off toward the intersection she turned toward him expectantly.

Buckling up he exhaled a long breath. "I don't know, Catherine," he said. "They didn't say. Just that Sara had gotten into some kind of difficulty. Dr Williamson's riding with her in the ambulance and that's why he couldn't talk to me in person."

"It must be serious," Laura said, "if they're rushing her to hospital."

Grissom didn't comment. He was cautious, wary to let his guard down and show his emotion, the chaos in his head, the gaping hole in his heart, lest it confirmed Catherine's suspicions. He didn't think he suffered from PTSD but she was right, he hadn't been himself recently, always on edge as if wound too tightly and about to go off. Would Sara ever catch a break? Would he? Wallis first, then Matthew, both back on the scene, notwithstanding Sara's still weakened health, all contributing factors to his constant disarray.

"Didn't they remove her spleen?" Catherine asked suddenly. She turned toward him on tenterhooks, as if he held all the answers. "Could she have picked up an infection, maybe?"

Grissom took in an overly slow breath and let it out even more slowly. "I don't know," he said again, not meeting her eyes. "Stop watching me, Catherine," he bid quietly, "and keep your eyes on the road. I'm fine."

Catherine's gaze lingered on him a little longer then flicked back to the line of traffic ahead. Her fingers restlessly tapping the steering wheel she drove forward a car length before stopping again.

Grissom turned round to look at Laura over his shoulder. "Have you heard from Matthew recently?"

"From him? No," Laura replied in a scoff, briefly taking her eyes off the passing scenery and meeting Grissom's. "From his lawyers? Plenty."

"He's here in Vegas," Grissom said. "Apparently he went to visit Sara last night."

Stunned by the news, Laura blinked quickly, her lips pinching into a thin line to stop their quivering. "Do you think he's got anything to do with what's happening now?" she asked fearfully.

"I don't know."

Fearful eyes averted back to the road and she kept quiet. He turned round so he was once again facing the front and brought his hand up, covering his eyes. "She must be petrified," he said in a whisper, his voice breaking.

Catherine's right hand lowered from the steering wheel onto his thigh. "You said it yourself," she said quietly, giving his leg a gentle pat. "Dr Williamson's riding with her in the ambulance. She's in good hands."

"What if it's Wallis?" he countered. "What if he found a way across the border and back to Vegas? It's not that hard, is it? Happens every day. He could have gotten in and out of her room without anyone noticing. If he's done something to her, Catherine, if…"

"Who's Wallis?" Laura asked from the back seat.

Grissom paused and threw Catherine a fearful glance. They had come to a stop at a red light and she was watching Laura through the rearview mirror. "He's…" the corner of her eye flicked to Grissom, "he's one of the men who carried out the original attack on Sara."

"I thought you'd caught him. I thought he was in jail."

"So did I," Grissom said bitterly.

"I don't understand," Laura said in a disbelieving gasp.

"We had to let him go," Catherine said. The lights changed. The truck in front pulled off, Catherine following close on its tail. "But the chances that what's happened is to do with him are slim. He's in Mexico."

"Supposedly in Mexico," Grissom amended and sighed. Traffic ahead was moving at a snail's pace. "What's taking so long?" he asked impatiently, then pointed his finger to the upcoming intersection. "Take the next right and cut through the industrial estate."

"At this time in the morning?"

"Do it," he snapped.

Catherine sighed, but checked her mirrors before signalling right and turning. The road ahead was clear of traffic and Catherine was able to finally make tracks, reaching the sprawling complex that was Desert Palm hospital in less than twenty minutes. Without needing to be told she headed straight to the ER, parking in a handicapped space by the entrance. Grissom was out of the car and rushing through to the main doors before she had the car in park. Dr Williamson was easy to spot, the only person waiting at the front desk.

"What happened?" Grissom asked, breathless.

The doctor turned round and waited until Grissom had caught his breath to reply, "Sara's had a seizure, I'm sorry."

"A seizure?" he repeated with surprise. Of all the things he'd considered….His hand shot to his face and he blew out a deep breath of relief. "And now?" He looked up. "Now, she's okay?"

Dr Williamson's hand moved to Grissom's shoulder and he nodded. "Yes. Yes, she is." The main doors slid open and Laura and Catherine burst in. The doctor turned a small smile toward the two women as he added, "It's nothing we could have foreseen, I'm afraid. But it is a fairly common occurrence after the TBI she sustained."

"What is?" Catherine and Laura asked at the same time.

"Sara had a seizure," Grissom said quickly, and then to the doctor, "Was she alone when it happened?"

"No," the doctor smiled. "A nurse was with her. She was able to immediately come to her help, preventing further injuries."

Grissom nodded and swallowed as visions of Sara falling off the bed or choking on her own spit filled his mind. "Why rush her here though?"

The doctor sighed. "Because her seizure was intense and prolonged, and I'm worried about more lasting damage to her brain."

"Epilepsy?"

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," the doctor said in a reassuring tone, sweeping his eyes over the three anxious faces staring back at him. "One seizure doesn't necessarily mean epilepsy and as far as we know she only had the one seizure, which we managed to get under control but still, I wanted to be on the safe side and run some scans."

"How was she when she came to?" Grissom asked, pained at the thought of how scared she would have been.

Dr Williamson lifted a small shoulder. "Disorientated, as you'd expect, but she was responsive and talking – a little. Concerned you wouldn't know where she'd be." Smiling he clasped Grissom on the shoulder. "They've taken her upstairs to neurology. We're waiting for a slot for the MRI to do a new brain scan, see if they can determine in which part of the brain the seizure was located. Maybe they can spot any changes or ascertain if something neurological and physiological triggered it."

"As opposed to emotional?" Grissom asked. Could a particular vivid and violent nightmare have triggered the seizure, he wondered? Could Sara have caught a glimpse of the message on his car door, getting her subconscious to work overtime? Or could her brother's visit have upset her maybe, unwittingly triggering a delayed seizure? He'd assumed Sara was asleep when Matthew had visited, but what if she hadn't been? What if they'd had an argument?

"That would be harder to determine," the doctor said, "but we'll see what comes up on the scans first – if anything."

"Can I see her?" Grissom asked quickly. He paused, then glanced at Laura. "I mean, can we?"

"I'm sorry, but you won't be able to. I'm headed up there now, but I wanted to catch you first," his eyes flicked to Catherine and Laura, and he smiled, "let you know in person."

"Thank you," Laura said.

"It's going to be at least a couple of hours before she's ready for visitors. Why don't you go for a coffee or a walk until then?"

"The cafeteria will serve breakfast at this time of the day," Catherine said hopefully, but Grissom shook his head.

"I want to stay here. You go home, Catherine," he turned and smiled, the relief that Sara was alright evident on his face. "I'll wait for her upstairs."

"I'll come with you," Laura said.

Dr Williamson smiled knowingly. "I'll let you know as soon as I know something."

"Thank you for riding with Sara in the ambulance," Laura said warmly. "At least she wasn't alone."

The doctor's hand moved to Laura's forearm. "You're welcome, and remember she's in good hands."

Closing his eyes Grissom nodded, then released a long breath, turning toward Catherine when he felt her hand on his shoulder. "She's going to be fine, Gil," she said. "You heard him, they've got it under control." Her phone beeped with a text message and she rummaged for it in her purse. "It's from Lily," she said, looking up at Grissom. "She's wondering what's taking me so long."

"You go," he repeated, "get some sleep. You must be beat anyway. You heard, we won't know anything for a while yet."

She nodded. "You're going to be okay?"

"Yeah."

"You'll call me, won't you, as soon as you hear something?"

He nodded and she watched him, visibly still hesitant to leave. "Go," he said, mustering a smile, "I need you to be able to hold the fort for a little while longer."

A smile broke across Catherine's face and she nodded, then with a glance and a smile at Laura turned to leave.

"Oh, and Cath," he called, smiling affectionately when she looked back over her shoulder. "Thank you."

Retracing her steps she touched him on the arm. "Anytime."

He nodded. "I'll call."

"You'd better." She looked at Laura, nodding once at her in silent communication and Grissom could well imagine what words of advice Catherine was imparting.

Exhaling a long breath he caught Laura's eye and motioned to the bank of elevators further down the hall. "Shall we?"

"I'm not looking forward to going back to that floor," she said a tense smile to her lips as they walked. "I haven't got the best memories from the last time I was there."

_Neither have I_, he wanted to say but kept silent.

They joined the small crowd of people waiting, Laura chancing a hesitant look in his direction. "You seem relieved," she said.

"I am," he replied candidly. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I'd rather it hadn't happened and I pray that it's a one-off, but of all the scenarios that had crossed my mind this seems the most…manageable."

"So you don't think this …Wallis or Matthew caused the seizure?"

The elevator doors slid open and when it was their turn to embark Grissom indicated with his hand that Laura should step in first. "I don't know," he said, reaching over someone's shoulder to press the button for neurology. "When I saw her last night she was fine – awake, smiling, talking, lovely. She didn't appear upset."

Laura nodded, then asked, "Could a new memory have caused it, do you think?"

"That's what I'm worried about."

They had been waiting, alternating between pacing and sitting on the edge of the uncomfortable chairs in the third floor's family waiting room for nearly an hour when the door opened and Dr Williamson popped his head in.

"Still no news, I'm afraid," he said quickly, a reassuring smile breaking across his face when Grissom and Laura jumped to their feet, "but I've got to head back." He paused and crossed the threshold, closing the door as he added, "I've spoken to Dr Flanders. I hear he's the neurosurgeon who originally operated on Sara when she was admitted after the attack? Understandably, he's taken a new interest in her case and is overseeing all the tests."

Grissom's heart sank at the mention of Dr Flanders and at the painful memories it prompted, and sitting back down on his chair he made a strange grunting sound that Dr Williamson visibly misunderstood.

"He's highly reputed," he said.

Grissom gave a small snort of disbelief. "That may well be the case, but…" he let his words trail with a despondent shake of the head.

"He said Sara'd never wake up," Laura said sharply, voicing what he hadn't been able to, "that her brain was dead and she'd never do any of the things she still does now. He told me my daughter was as much as dead."

"Sara's case is exceptional, Mrs Sidle," Dr Williamson said in a placatory voice. "You know that." He paused, catching Grissom's eye. "Anyway, he'll call me with the results from the scans and with his go-ahead we'll organise Sara's transfer back to the Centre."

Grissom registered a look of surprise. Then he smiled, nodding, "Thank you."

The doctor's hand moved to Grissom's shoulder. "She's going to be fine, Mr Grissom. I'm sorry if we got you worried earlier, but you did ask to be informed." Grissom nodded and the doctor redirected his gaze onto Laura, his hand moving to her arm and patting warmly. "I'll see both of you soon," he said, leaving.

"Doctor," Grissom called, causing the doctor to stop and turn at the threshold, "What was Sara doing when she had the seizure? You said a nurse was in the room with her, but do you know if she was awake?"

"She was. She was awake. She was being…cared for." The doctor's eyes narrowed as though suddenly remembering something. "I believe―No, I'm sure that she was listening to her iPod. I remember the nurse clearly saying she'd removed the…" he waved at his ear, "the earphone in case the wire got caught round her neck."

Grissom's brow rose with interest. "Have you got it here?"

"Sorry?"

"Sara's iPod. Have you got it with you?"

"No," the doctor replied, surprised at Grissom's question. "It's in her room, back at the Centre. Why?"

"Could listening to her iPod have triggered the seizure?"

"It's hard to say but I don't believe it would. Sara's always listening to her iPod and the staff always makes sure that the sound's turned on low when they put it on, as per your instructions."

Grissom gave a thoughtful nod. "Could a particular song, maybe, have triggered the seizure?"

The question gave the doctor pause. "What, you're wondering if a song could have triggered a memory that could have in turn caused a seizure? It's possible, I guess."

"She was running, out jogging in the park when…" he shook his head, "she was listening to her iPod when they jumped her from behind." His left hand came up and he rubbed at his eyes.

"It's possible," the doctor repeated. "But unless Sara can tell us we'll probably never know."

The doctor left, leaving Grissom and Laura to more waiting and pondering. Laura stood up and moved to the small window, parting the blinds and peering outside. She sighed. "You want some coffee?" she asked for the third time, turning. "There's a machine back there in the lobby. Maybe-"

"I'm alright," he said, again. "You go. I'll stay here and wait."

Laura watched him, then nodded her head and disappeared. He leaned across and picked up a magazine, blindly flicking through it, then put it back, got up and moved to the window, parting the blinds and looking outside as Laura had done a minute previously. He stood there, staring, for a long time. The view of the desert landscape was stunning and yet he didn't see it.

"I've got us some breakfast." Laura said returning with a tray, adding when he turned, "Coffee, grilled cheese sandwich and a salad." She gave him a small smile. "That's all they had, I'm afraid."

He was going to say that he wasn't hungry when he realised that _this_ was her way of coping through the long wait and uncertainty. "Thank you," he said, closing the distance and taking one of the two take-out bags from the tray. "Sara loves my grilled cheeses," he said, a soft smile spreading on his face.

"She was a fussy eater as a child."

"She's a vegetarian now," he said, out of nowhere, taking a seat.

Laura sat down next to him. "Is she?"

Nodding he opened the bag and took out the food which he placed on the empty chair on the other side. He knew he wouldn't eat it. "You don't seem overly surprised," he said, pulling the plastic lid off his coffee and taking a tentative sip. He winced at the bitterness of the lukewarm liquid but swallowed it anyway.

"I'm not," Laura replied, chewing and wiping the corner of her mouth with her finger. "Sara was always that way inclined. Taking up causes-"

The door opened abruptly, causing Laura's words to die on her lips and both their heads to snap up toward it. Dr Flanders entered. "Mr Grissom, Mrs Sidle," he greeted a little tersely, extending his right hand.

Grissom put his cup down and stood up, but didn't shake the outstretched hand.

"How's Sara?" Laura asked, getting to her feet too and reaching over to shake the doctor's hand.

Dr Flanders offered her a small smile. "She's… comfortable. She's being settled in her room as we speak. We're going to keep her in overnight for observation." Laura's mouth opened, but the doctor lifted his hand, cutting her next question short. "Just as a precaution," he said reassuringly, "we don't anticipate any complications."

"Can we see her?" Grissom asked.

Dr Flanders's eyes flicked from Laura to Grissom and he nodded. "Only one of you though, for the moment. She's still under sedation and a little weak."

Grissom turned to Laura, meeting her soft gaze. "You go see her," she said with a warm smile, "I don't mind waiting a little longer."

"Thank you," he said managing a grateful smile.

Dr Flanders stepped out of the waiting room, Grissom silently following him down the corridor. Memories of the last time he walked down this same path filled him and he gave his head a brisk shake, pushing them away.

"Mr Grissom," the doctor said, drawing him out of his thoughts, "I'm sorry to be meeting you again under these circumstances. You should have seen our shock when we saw Sara's name on the chart. She's certainly defied all the odds."

_Your odds_, Grissom thought bitterly. "Can we not do this now?" he said, more curtly than he intended to, "I just want to see her."

"Sure. She's in this room," the doctor said, coming to a stop. "I'll be in my office when you're ready, and we can go over all the results."

Dr Flanders gave the door a soft knock and popped his head in, checking that the nursing staff had finished settling Sara. He opened the door wider, letting Grissom in and a nurse out. Their eyes locked immediately. Sara's smile from the hospital pillow was so gentle and frail that he had to swallow. The relief flooding through him was so overwhelming that momentarily he was rooted to the spot, weak in the knees.

Her smile widened slightly, the fingers of her right hand lifting off the bed in a weak beckon. A soft trembling smile forming on his lips he strode to her side, tears pooling as he took her hand and squeezed it tight. Tears welled in her eyes too, and leaning down he brought his face to hers, closing his eyes as he allowed the long shaky breath he had been holding to leave him.

"Mkay," she said in a whisper, weak, yet so strong. "Mkay."


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Apologies for the slightly longer than usual delay with this chapter. It's been a while since I thanked everybody again for reading, dropping comments and adding the story to their favourites, so I thought I'd do it now: thank you.

La lumière de l'âme, je vous ai fait un cadeau mardi pour m'excuser mais vous ne l'avez pas lu! Ou alors vous ne l'avez pas aimé. L'histoire s'appelle _In the Cards_.

* * *

><p>"I'm okay," Sara said again, wanting above everything else to erase that look of fear from his eyes, the pain and anguish ever present there.<p>

Greg had let slip that Grissom was sacred, and she'd realised as he'd said the words that what she'd put down to fear over her and her life on account of her vulnerable state, weakened health and disabilities, or even her uncertain future, was in fact only the tip of the iceberg. Now she knew that his fear went deeper, much deeper than all that, and that sadly the threats were outside ones well beyond hers or his control.

She had been attacked. He'd told her she'd got injured while running at the park with Hank, but that was only a partial truth. She'd been attacked, targeted, and now she understood he feared it might happen again.

"I thought for a second that I'd lost you again," he said in a fraught whisper, his lips moving against the side of her face, echoing the thoughts in her head. She heard the breath catch in his throat and a deep inhale. She tried to lift her hand, move her fingers under his, desperate to show him with more than just words that she was okay, but the drugs made her a little woozy and her body unresponsive.

The memories the song had brought back, however vague and distant, yet vivid enough to trigger a seizure, had been censored by her subconscious, her brain shutting them down the only way it could, but the words inadvertently spoken by the doctors, the staff and technicians in the Neurology department, words she wasn't meant to hear let alone make sense of, had filled some more of the gaps.

Sara's frantic eyes had scanned the faces above her as they spoke, sharp ears tuned in to their quiet medical back and fro. They had known who she was; spoken about her and her case with a familiarity that had surprised her at first. They had records of other tests and scans they had done on her in the recent past. The brain surgery that she had undergone in the aftermath of her accident was brought into question and she realised then that she'd been a patient there before she'd gotten transferred to Reno.

Grissom gave a nod of his head, the bristles of his beard scraping against her cheek welcomed and familiar, and she refocused her thoughts on him. He didn't pull back immediately from her but when he did, his eyes were dry and the smile on his lips soft and tender. His free hand reached up, feather light fingers stroking the side of her face, pushing a little hair out of the way, and leaning her head toward his touch she smiled.

Despite his best effort at hiding them she could still read the uncertainty, the questions in his soft eyes but he didn't voice them, and she understood then that she wouldn't – couldn't – tell him she'd remembered being attacked and that it would be better for him that he thought she didn't. She could see how fragile he still was, how his worries over her condition, over her future had a negative effect on his mood and wellbeing, and the last thing she wanted was to add to his already heavy load.

"I was making soup for your lunch when they called," he said, his smile growing bigger as his shoulder lifted diffidently.

She watched him through tired, blurry eyes, and she felt her lips pull into a wider smile. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "It'll keep."

"I'm coming home tomorrow," she said in what she hoped was a cheery tone.

His eyes narrowed as he made sense of her speech, then darkened a little wistfully, and Sara immediately regretted using the word 'Home' to refer to Torrey Pines. "I know," he said, smiling though his pain.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Whatever for, sweetheart?" he said in a gasp. "What happened this morning is not your fault. There's nothing you did, nothing you could have done to prevent it."

Closing her eyes she shook her head. "For calling the Centre 'home'," she said, her eyes reopening.

Smiling he nodded. "It's all right to call it home." His smile trembled. "It's your home for now. But soon I promise I'll take you to our home and you can see for yourself what we have together, how we live."

"I can't wait," she said weakly.

"It's a date," he said in a whisper.

The mention of 'date' made her lower her eyes to her right hand. "They took my ring off," she said sadly.

Frowning he followed her gaze then scanned his eyes around the room. "It's okay," he said reassuringly, "It's over there with your glasses. I'll get it for you." He pushed away and moved round the bed to a nearby cabinet. Smiling he came back, lifted her hand and his eyes intent on her fingers silently slipped the ring back on. They brought their gazes up at the same time, soft eyes meeting, locking, smiling.

Sara felt her heart beat faster as it filled with all the love and emotion spilling from his eyes. He looked about to say something, then looked down, and when he flicked his eyes up again the moment was gone. She smiled at him then, thinking that – no, knowing that – there would be other times. The soft smile stayed on as her eyes drifted shut.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You need to rest now," he said softly, pulling back, "I'll be back later."

She forced her eyes open. "No, I'm okay. Stay a little longer."

He smiled. "It's only fair that I give your mother a little time with you too."

"She's here?"

He acquiesced with a nod. "She was there when they called. Sh-she's staying at the house for the weekend, remember? I told you all about it." His gaze darkened, then lowered, and he sighed. "Your brother's in Vegas too," he said cautiously, glancing up, gauging her reaction.

His choosing to mention her brother at this particular moment gave her pause. Did he think Matthew's visit had caused the seizure, maybe? "I know," she said a little gloomily, "he came to see me yesterday."

There was a lengthy delay before he replied, and Sara wondered whether her speech had gotten worse because of the seizure or whether it was just bad due to her drowsiness on account of the medication she was on. "You spoke to him?" he asked in the same cautious, slightly hesitant tone. He didn't seem surprised at the fact that Matthew had visited her outside hours.

She gave a small shake of the head in reply. "I pretended I was asleep. I'm very good at it," she said, choosing to keep back the fact that Matthew had spoken to her anyway, said things she would rather have not heard, things she didn't want Grissom to know. Not yet anyway.

Grissom's face filled with relief, then softened with amusement and he tapped the side of her nose playfully. "Anyway, I'd best get your mother before you succumb totally." Her eyes had drifted shut and she felt his lips on her skin again. "Besides," he added quietly, his words a mere whisper in her ear, "I need to speak with Dr Flanders, find out what all this is about."

Sara's eyes snapped open. "He was very nice to me," she said, startled by the bitterness – could it be disdain? – in his tone as he said the doctor's name.

And it was true. The neurosurgeon had been reassuring all the while, talking through every procedure and test, explaining everything that was being done to her and why, in terms she'd understood. He hadn't talked down at her because of her disabilities, quite the opposite. He had spoken to her as he would have Grissom or her mother, never once in a condescending manner, and she was grateful for his candour and honesty, his trust and respect. Why would Grissom feel so strongly against him?

Dr Flanders' voice had been calm, measured and practiced, reminiscent of Grissom's in so many ways. Despite his obvious disbelief at first when faced with the realisation of who she was, he'd lulled her into a sense of security and she'd immediately felt appeased. He'd quoted statistics at her, numbers she had immediately clung to, allaying her fears.

He'd explained how her seizure was most probably what they termed a late post-traumatic seizure, fairly common after the brain trauma she'd originally sustained and the subsequent operation he'd carried out on her. Most were one-offs, he'd reassured, but they couldn't be sure and were giving her Phenytoin to prevent further fits. The word epilepsy had been cautiously put forward, but it was too early to tell.

The neural networks in her brain were being restructured, becoming too excited in the process, causing the seizure. Simply put, he'd said, it was her brain's way of rewiring itself. The new scans hadn't highlighted any new lesions; they thought that the trigger for her seizure had most probably been emotional, not physiological, and that as far as he could ascertain whatever progress she had made in her recovery so far wouldn't be impaired. So why the bitter tone and animosity?

"Did he say…who he was?" Grissom asked tentatively.

Sara's eyes lowered and she nodded. "He must have done a good job," she quipped weakly, referring to the operation on her brain, "because I'm still here."

Grissom swallowed, then nodded a little stiffly. The dark shadows in his eyes told her a different story but to ask about it would imply she knew more than she was letting on. Her eyes closed by themselves again as she wondered at what else she still didn't know about the events surrounding the aftermath of her attack. Would she ever know, would she ever be told the whole truth?

Grissom's lips brushed her forehead again, their soft yielding pressure lingering on her skin for a short while before she felt the bed dip and he pushed off the edge, moving away. "I'll get your mother," he said tenderly, gently placing the hand he was still holding on her stomach over the covers.

The door opened and closed, and unable to fight it off any longer Sara let her drowsiness get the better of her. She couldn't be sure how long she slept for but the next time she woke was when the door opened and closed again. Recognising the quiet heels of her mother's shoes on the hospital lino Sara slowly forced her eyes open.

"Hey, sweetie," Laura said with a soft smile as she cautiously approached the bed. Her hand lifted to her daughter's brow, stroking. "I would have come sooner but Gil said you were sleeping. We had a long talk with…your doctor."

Sara immediately picked up on her mother's cautious tone when mentioning Dr Flanders. So, she too was wary of him, but why?

"You gave us all quite a fright," Laura went on, cutting into her thoughts. "How are you feeling now?"

"Tired, but I'm okay. A little woozy."

Watching her daughter intently Laura gave a slight nod. "It's to be expected," she said comfortingly.

"What's wrong with him, mom?" Sara asked.

Laura's frown was puzzled. "With Gil? Nothing."

Sara's headshake showed her growing frustration. "Dr Flanders."

Laura's eyes narrowed and she shook her head uncertainly, and Sara couldn't be sure if it was because she hadn't understood because of her speech or because she didn't want to reply.

"Dr Flanders," Sara repeated slower, louder, "You don't like him."

Her eyes lowering Laura swallowed. "I like him," she defended quietly.

"Gil doesn't like him either," Sara went on doggedly, determined to get answers. "Why? What happened?"

Laura's eyes welled and she kept them averted. She didn't speak for a long while and when she did, her voice came out in such a low whisper that Sara struggled to catch the words. "When you were first brought here after the accident," she said hesitantly, "he…didn't think―didn't believe that you would―that you were…he said that…" she swallowed the tightness in her throat, then looked up and blinked and smiled through her tears, and Sara didn't need her to continue to know. She saw the words in her mother's sad eyes.

God, what must it have been like for Laura and Grissom to be told the news that she was…gone? No wonder he was so fearful all the time, so watchful and protective. This went some way toward explaining not only his behaviour, but also his guilt. Guilt over the attack itself because of what he felt he could have prevented, but also over what had happened afterwards when she had been…unconscious. What _had_ happened afterwards? Had he written her off too?

"It doesn't matter now, sweetie," the older women went on, feigning a cheeriness that didn't fool anyone, "It's in the past. What matters is that you're here, doing well, beating the odds."

Offering her mother a weak smile Sara nodded her head on the pillow. "How's Gil?" she asked.

Laura frowned. "How do you mean? You just saw him," she answered a little too brightly. Sara's stare was probing, and the older woman sighed, shrugging her reply. "A little shaken," she admitted at last, "as we all were, but fine. I sent him to the cafeteria to get us a little food. Why?"

"How are you two getting along?"

Laura's face softened with a knowing smile. "We're doing fine," she said breezily. "That said, we haven't spoken much on account of him being out a lot."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Out?"

Laura's grin was wide. "Nocturnal visits to a certain young lady, I'm told." She paused, her brow creasing with a frown. "You don't remember?"

Sara's eyes flicked up to a point in the middle distance and she shook her head.

"Maybe, I misunderstood," Laura said guardedly.

"Mom?" Sara said fearfully.

Laura opened her mouth and then shut it with a sigh. "I wasn't sleeping when I heard him come in in the early hours. He said he'd been to…" Laura stopped talking abruptly and Sara realised that her mother had been about to say too much.

"Tell me, please, tell me," Sara pleaded.

"I don't know if I should."

"Was he checking up me?"

"Not as such." She smiled. "After his car got vandalised he was a little concerned about security at Torrey Pines. So he went to check things out, and he got talking to Dr Williamson who let him into your room. He said you were awake and that he'd spoken to you. Don't you remember?"

Sara searched the recesses of her mind but finding nothing she shook her head. Sad eyes refocused on her mother. "Don't tell him, please. It would only worry him more."

"Oh, Sara-"

"Could he have been mistaken, maybe?"

"I don't see how."

Sara sighed. Laura patted her hand soothingly and she closed her eyes, once again feeling drained and sleepy. She heard her mother make herself comfortable in the chair near the bed and was drifting off to sleep when raised voices coming from the corridor roused her. She made out two male voices outside her room, the loudest her brother's, the second one – Grissom's – talking in an urgent whisper barring the entrance to her room.

A shiver ran through her. Her heart began pounding in her chest and she snapped her eyes open. Her head whipped round toward Laura. The latter was sitting forward on the edge of her chair, her gaze fixed on the door, at the ready lest it opened.

"You can't keep me away," Sara heard Matthew say through the door, "I'm her brother. I've a right to be here. More than you do."

"Your mother's with her now," Grissom replied in a quiet voice, "and the doctors have said to keep to one visitor at a time."

"Why didn't you call me to let me know?" Matthew asked in an accusatory tone. "Why did I have to be told when I turned up for afternoon visits?"

"Can we not do this here?" Grissom said in a quiet voice.

"Get your hand off me," Matthew snapped, and Sara could well imagine Grissom's unsuccessful efforts at steering her brother away from her room. "Answer me. Why didn't you call? You knew I was here in Vegas, I left a message on your machine to let you know."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get it."

"Did you do it on purpose?"

"Please, Matthew, not here," Grissom bid his voice clipped. "I'll speak with you, but not here. I've just spoken to Dr Flanders. You met him before, didn't you? Why don't we go for a coffee while I fill you in on Sara's situation?"

There was a pause. "How is she?" Matthew asked, calmer now. Grissom replied but they must have been walking away because the rest of their conversation faded out.

"Pease mommy," Sara said in a frightened, almost childlike voice, redirecting wide fearful eyes on her mother, "Don't let him take me away."


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Bear with me during these difficult times. We'll get back to happier moments soon, I promise.

Oh, and have a nice week-end!

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><p>"How is she?" Matthew asked, calmer now.<p>

Matthew's blatant antagonism toward him had caught Grissom off guard. He flicked his eyes toward Sara's door, praying she was still sleeping and hadn't heard what had just transpired, and again motioned with his hand that they should go somewhere quieter to talk. He was still clutching his cell from talking to Catherine and glancing down at it put it away. After a slight pause Matthew complied and they set off down the corridor toward the vending machines in the entrance to the ward.

"She's okay," he replied at last, relaxing a little, a wistful smile forming as Sara's small "Mkay" replayed in his head. She was so selfless, so brave and strong even in the face of adversity. "She was talking, alert and aware when I saw her. She'd just gone to sleep when I left to go and speak with her doctors." They came to a stop near the coffee machine and Grissom pointed to a quiet corner with a few plastic chairs where they could talk undisturbed. "Would you like a coffee?"

Matthew gave a curt shake of the head in reply. "Dr Williamson at Torrey Pines said she'd had a seizure," he said cutting short the pleasantries. Neither man sat down.

"Yes, a late post-traumatic seizure," Grissom explained with a sigh, then went on to relay in detail what Dr Flanders had said, finishing with, "They're discharging her tomorrow, providing her condition remains the same, which it should."

"And it hasn't affected any aspects of her recovery so far."

"Not as far as they can ascertain," Grissom answered truthfully, visibly relieved at Matthew's softer approach. Maybe his initial bitterness was borne out of genuine concern for his sister and out of shock at having found out about her seizure the way he had.

Matthew pursed his mouth in a downward curve as he pondered Grissom's words. "So you really think the iPod did it. Nothing else."

Grissom's eyes narrowed. Could Matthew be thinking his visit to Sara had caused the seizure? "Well, it's hard to tell," he said diplomatically, unwilling to unnecessarily rile Matthew up by revealing he'd known all along of the younger man's presence in Vegas when he'd only just asserted to the contrary. Matthew seemed volatile enough and easily aggravated. "But it would appear so. I haven't asked Sara as I feared it might trigger another adverse reaction. She's the only one who can tell us for sure."

Matthew gave a thoughtful nod, but left it at that. He inhaled and let out a long breath, his eyes briefly averting to the floor.

"I'm sorry I didn't pick up your message," Grissom went on in a quiet apologetic voice, wanting to repair their fraught relationship. "I just haven't been home much lately."

"I would appreciate it if in future you kept me informed with everything concerning Sara," Matthew said, looking up and meeting Grissom's gaze dead on. "I didn't appreciate being told after the fact."

Grissom registered a look of surprise at Matthew's superior tone. "Of course," he said forcing a small smile. "I'm sorry."

Matthew held Grissom's gaze for a moment longer, then nodded his head at him, leaving the CSI with a bad taste in his mouth. "I heard what happened yesterday with your car," he went on, aiming for a casual tone, but not quite succeeding. "It's a shame."

All the hairs on the back of Grissom's neck stood up, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Why bring that up now, he wondered? Could Matthew have had a hand in the vandalising of his car? But to what ends? Feeling his pulse rise at the surely preposterous thought he gave his head a shake and feigned a calmness he was far from feeling in his reply. "We got security footage and a good view of the man that did it," he replied, holding Matthew's eye, "My CSI's are working on extracting DNA from a cigarette butt we found nearby."

Matthew's brow rose as though in admiration. "Perk of the job, I suppose."

"A crime's a crime," Grissom retorted coolly, "regardless of its severity or of its intended target."

Pulling at his shirt collar Matthew gave a short nod, then turned and moved away, in the process confirming Grissom's suspicions. The CSI watched as he reached into his pants pocket for some change, fed coins into the coffee machine and pressed a few keys. A plastic cup dropped down and slowly filled with murky sludge. Matthew picked it up, wincing as he took a sip and swallowed, then cup in hand walked back toward him.

"If you want to accuse me of something, Mr Grissom," Matthew said, casually bringing the cup to his lips and blowing at the steam, "you should wait to see what your evidence tells you."

A wry smile pulled at Grissom's lips. "Oh, I'm sure you covered your tracks well."

"Are you accusing me of something?" Matthew asked, holding the CSI's gaze levelly. "Without proof you've got nothing, as you well know."

"Why are you here, Matthew?" Grissom asked. "It's evidently not because you've got Sara's best interests at heart."

"I think you'll find you're quite mistaken."

"You're all bluff."

"Am I?" Matthew countered calmly. He finished his coffee and carelessly tossed the cup in a nearby trash can. "What measures are you taking to ensure Sara's safety here in Vegas?"

The question came out of left field. "I'm sorry?"

"Can you ensure her safety at all?"

"Of course," Grissom replied. "Security at Torrey Pines is second to none."

"I've read the brochure too," Matthew said flippantly. Then he paused, his eyes narrowing disdainfully. "What about the one who got away, huh? Wallis?" A spiteful smile spreading on his face he paused for effect. "That's his name isn't it? How are you going to keep her safe from _him_?"

"How do you know about that?"

"That's not important. What is important is that Sara's not safe-"

The penny finally dropped. "Have you engendered this whole thing with my car to create a threat on Sara's life?" he asked, then closed his mouth and stared at Matthew with utter disbelief. "Simply to make out she isn't safe?" He could feel himself being backed into a corner and couldn't see a way out. "But why?" he asked when Matthew didn't reply. "What's the point? We all want the same thing here, Matthew. We all want for Sara to get better, for her to be happy and fulfilled in her new life. She's been given a second chance – we've all been given a second chance with her. Her progress so far is remarkable, short of a miracle. Why would you want to jeopardize that?"

"Oh, _Mr __Grissom_, you don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Grissom asked, unable to disguise his exasperation at being played for a fool. Hearing hurried footsteps approaching he paused and glanced over his shoulder. Laura had stopped a few feet away and was watching the scene, a fearful look about her face. Grissom turned back in time to witness the tail-end of the long despising look Matthew had cast his mother.

"You and her belong with each other," Matthew spat, his voice full of spite and loathing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Laura interjected.

Matthew scoffed. "Haven't you worked it out yet? Sara's better off without you. Either of you."

Laura covered the distance to the two men, her hand hesitantly lifting to her son's arm. "Don't do this, Matthew," she pleaded. "Please, I beg you."

"Don't do what?" Grissom asked, a sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

Matthew's wry smile widened, his eyes flicking to Laura as he said, "You want to tell him, or shall I?"

"Matthew, please," Laura tried, ignoring her son's ultimatum, "Sara's petrified – petrified of _you_. What did you tell her when you saw her yesterday? She heard your voice and she just..." Her hand came up to cover her mouth as the words died on her lips and her face pinched with pain.

"Is she okay?" Grissom asked Laura with concern.

Laura mustered a small smile, nodding her reply. "She is now. What on earth did you tell her?" she then asked her son, and shook her head. "She doesn't want this-"

Cold eyes narrowed, then fixed on Grissom with interest. "So she wasn't sleeping after all. You knew and you lied."

Grissom's eyes lowered and he sighed. "Doesn't want what?" he asked Laura, ignoring Matthew's interjection.

"I'm arranging with the courts to be granted powers of attorney over Sara's care," Matthew said with confidence, "and once all the paperwork's done I'm going to have her moved."

"Moved?" Grissom repeated with puzzlement. "But Torrey Pines is an excellent facility – the best in Nevada. Sara's striving there, making considerable progress every single day. She-" Matthew lifted his hand, cutting him mid-stride, and he faltered.

"He wants to take her back East with him," Laura explained, her voice low and defeated, her eyes steadfast on her son. "Sara doesn't want to go with you, Matthew."

"It's not up to her. She's not up to making any decisions."

"Of course she is," Laura countered. "Her mind is as sharp as ever."

"Is it? That remains to be proven."

"Her life is here," Grissom said. "With her friends and family."

"Her life is where I decide it is, and that's in Baltimore."

"You can't have her transferred like that," Laura retorted heatedly, "not without her consent."

"Watch me."

"Why are you doing this Matthew?" Grissom asked in an accusatory manner as the walls began to close in on him and the situation.

"It's in Sara's best interests."

"Why would you think it's in her best interests to be cut off from the life she knows?" His voice was rising with desperation. A few heads turned and he made a conscious effort to lower it adding through gritted teeth, "She wouldn't know anyone-"

"She'd know me."

"She doesn't know you," Grissom countered in a loud exasperated voice. He took a fraught breath, checking himself and his growing temper. "You left her. You abandoned her when she was twelve and needed you and looking after. Until her accident you never once made contact. How can you possibly believe that being isolated from her friends, her family is what's best for her and her recovery?"

"I'm her family," Matthew said.

"No," Grissom almost shouted as he raised a pointed finger in Matthew's chest, "I'm her family. Have been for the last-"

"Legally, you're nothing," Matthew cut in. He lowered his eyes, and Grissom dropped his hand. "You gave up on her once before too. Both of you."

"Never," Grissom defended heatedly. "I never once gave up on her."

"Didn't you?" Matthew sneered. "You were very quick to grant her wish – to have the machines turned off and have her gone."

"That's what Sara wanted!" Laura exclaimed.

"What if you'd gotten your way? What if I hadn't come, huh? Would she still be alive then?"

His eyes steadfast on the floor Grissom was stunned into silence. He looked up. "This isn't what all this is about, is it? This is about your anger and resentment for what happened twenty five years ago, your quest for revenge against your mother and what she did. Why use Sara and her wellbeing to achieve that?"

Matthew's eyes averted and he didn't answer.

"Because he knows that's the only way he can truly hurt me," Laura said. She lifted sad eyes to Grissom. "I'm sorry; this is all my fault."

"I'm going to argue that Sara will be safer with me away from here and Wallis," Matthew then said, looking up. "It's obvious you can't protect her here. And with one of her attackers still at large and watching you..." Smiling he shrugged the rest of his sentence off.

"Matthew, please, don't do this," Laura pleaded again. "I'll leave. I'll stay away from Sara's life, but please don't spite her to spite me."

"It won't get to this, Laura," Grissom said confidently. "The courts will never allow it to happen. Besides, the doctors will testify that Sara's mental competency is all there."

"I'm done here," Matthew said, turning.

"This isn't over," Grissom said. "We'll see you in court."

"I don't expect anything less," Matthew retorted, "but I'm prepared and have my arguments ready." His eyes flickered between his mother and Grissom, a vindictive smile curling his lip. "You two are making this easy for me anyway. I hear you've shacked up?"

"Shacked up?" Grissom said, a look of utter disbelief filling his face.

"Matthew, don't," Laura bid dejectedly. "Please, don't."

Matthew's eyes lowered to his mother, a condescending brow lifting. "Or what?"

Laura swallowed, and Matthew's gaze veered to Grissom. "It didn't take her long to work her claws into you, that's for sure."

Grissom felt his pulse rising again. "Don't say anything, Laura. It's not worth it."

Matthew turned an icy glare on his mother. "Yes, Laura. Listen to Gil, Laura," he mocked.

"You won't win this, Matthew," Grissom said through gritted teeth, mustering all his resolve not to blow.

"Won't I?"

"I'll never give up."

"You could always relocate."

Grissom was working hard at keeping a semblance of composure. "You're des-" His jaw set and he bit back his insult.

"I'm what?" Matthew challenged, sniggering. Grissom scrunched his eyes shut to stop the hissing of his blood in his ears – to no avail - while Matthew kept up his relentless pressure. "I'd have thought now that she's a cripple-"

The blow came out of nowhere, startling both men in equal measure, the top edge of Grissom's plaster cast hitting Matthew on the side of the chin. Matthew staggered backwards, his hand shooting up to his mouth and dabbing at the blood already trickling out. Grissom felt the world collapse around him, his outburst leaving him frozen with shock as he realised that he risked losing Sara after all. Not to her injuries, or even to Wallis, but to her own brother and the deep-seated hatred and resentment he harboured. He brought his gaze up to Matthew's face and saw delight and triumph in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low defeated voice. His left hand came up to his face and he wiped at his eyes. "I'm sorry; I don't know what came over me."

Matthew's lip curled into a chilling smile. "Save it," he spat. "Save it for the lawyers. I got everything I came for." He turned, headed toward the wide swinging doors, and Grissom slumped down on the hard plastic chair, covering his face with his hands.

"You're not going to see Sara?" Laura called out to Matthew, her voice betraying her relief.

"And let her see me like this?" her son retorted heatedly.

Grissom looked up, finding Matthew turned toward them with his hand on the door, ready to push it. The smile never leaving his bleeding lips he gave an overly slow shake of the head. "I wouldn't want to worry her. Poor Sara has been through enough for the day. Mother dear," he said, his voice dripping with contempt, "if you must, tell her I came by when she was sleeping. Tell her I'll be back tomorrow."

As soon as the doors swung shut behind Matthew Laura sat down next to Grissom. "Are you all right?" she asked. "This is all my fault; I'm so sorry."

Grissom shook his head. "Oh, Laura, I've played right into his hands, and I know better than that."

"He knew what buttons to push. You've been under a lot of stress lately and…"

"That's no excuse."

Laura sighed, then asked a little fearfully, "Do you think he's going to press charges?"

A sad smile formed on Grissom's face. "I've a feeling he won't," he said, then sighed. "He knows he's got the upper hand."

"He _thinks_ he's got the upper hand," Laura said softly, "but we won't let him win, will we?"

Smiling Grissom shook his head. "No, we won't." He'd made a mistake and let his temper get the better of him, but if Matthew was going to play dirty to get what he wanted then they'd have to play dirtier in order to keep it. "We're just going to have to call in a little reinforcement." Blowing out a breath he stood up and reached into his pocket for his cell, scrolling down the list of names until he got to the one he was looking for. He could feel Laura's puzzled gaze on him as he put the call through.

"Maddy," he said, as soon as she picked up, then paused as he realised his call had gone straight to voicemail and he was listening to her recorded message. "Maddy," he said again after the beep, "It's me, Gil. Call me back please; I need your help, and your contacts."


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Dhila, this chapter is for you, for reminding me of my promise not to write a story as bleak and sad as _A__Crime__Too__Far_. I hope this makes up for some of the tension in previous chapters. Consider it a little interlude. I hope you enjoy.

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><p>"Sara," Marcy chided mildly, "You're not concentrating."<p>

Sara peeled her eyes off the door to the changing rooms and refocused on Marcy. "I'm sorry."

"He'll be here," the physical therapist said in a knowing voice, "I'm sure there's a good reason for his tardiness."

Sara sighed. "I've been looking forward to it all week," she said sulkily.

"I know you have, sweetie, and he has too. Believe me he couldn't wait to get that cast off so he could have a paddle with you."

Sara's face lit up with a sudden smile. "He's here," she said with excitement.

Marcy turned her head to look over her shoulder. "So he is," she said, smiling pleasurably as she turned back toward Sara. "I told you. Now, can we get on, please?"

Sara nodded absently in reply but her eyes were on Grissom as he reached the side of the pool with a purposeful stride and a twinkle in his eyes before tossing his towel on the arm of her wheelchair. Sara hid her slight disappointment at the sight of his sweatpants and T-shirt clad body behind a bright smile, his plaster-free arm now encased in a strengthening neoprene brace. Maybe he'd forgotten to get changed, she mused hopefully.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, addressing the trio in the water.

"What, no trunks?" Sara said.

He laughed. "No."

"Shorts underneath?" she tried.

"Only of the underpants variety," he replied a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Believe me; you don't want these legs uncovered in public." His gaze averting hesitantly he dipped a bare toe in the water.

"Water's too cold for you?" she teased, her heart beating faster in anticipation.

He winked, his shoulder lifting in a casual manner. "I was merely wondering how best to proceed."

Surprise filled Sara's features. "You can't swim?"

"Oh, I can swim all right," he replied easily. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"You could always borrow a vest," Marcy said, joining in the banter.

Laughing he walked round to the pool end with the wide steps and ramps into the water, went in tentatively at first and then more confidently as he pushed water to join her side. Their giddy smiles as they stared at one another matched perfectly.

"Gil," Marcy said, "How would you like to take Pablo's place behind Sara?"

Grissom's face lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight at the prospect. "Yeah?"

Marcy gave him a confident nod. "Just slip your arms under Sara's armpits to keep her head and upper body raised out of the water while I manipulate her lower limbs. We'll keep it simple for today – or what's left of it," she added pointedly.

Sara giggled at the look of contrition that crossed his face. Grissom muttered a quick "It won't happen again", then flicked his eyes at her and pulled a face, causing her laughter to grow. Pablo eased an arm out from under her and a look of deep concentration creasing his brow Grissom took his place.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," he said quietly in her ear after a few minutes of gentle exercises in silence. "I got a call from John which went on longer than I'd have liked." Sara's head turned toward him, her brow furrowing with puzzlement and he added helpfully, "You know, John Grady, Maddy's…friend."

Realisation flashed across her face. "And?" she asked with interest.

Sara's weight was beginning to pull him down and he shifted position. "I'll tell you afterwards, but it's good news."

"Okay," Marcy said, and Sara refocused, "Enough of the chitchat, you two. You'll have plenty of time for all that afterwards." She paused and gave them a stern look. "Sara, you're going to make a star." Used to the pool terminology, Sara nodded her understanding. "It's easy," Marcy explained, addressing Grissom, "Sara's going to do all the work. You just need…"

Shifting the whole of her upper body backward Sara turned her head to look over her shoulder at Grissom. His focus was on Marcy and on what she was telling him and caught off guard by her sudden jerk he took a step back as he tried to readjust the hold he had on her but missing his footing slipped backwards into the water, dragging her down with him.

Sara felt herself go under, her chest sinking beneath the water, but due to the fact that he let go of her almost instantly and to the special life vest she was wearing the water didn't come up higher than her neck before Pablo stepped in. Grissom soon scrambled back up to his feet, his look of abject fear replaced almost immediately by amusement, then mock-annoyance as he caught sight of Sara's smile through a not-so-contrite pinch of her lips.

"You did it on purpose," he said, struggling to keep a serious expression as he wiped water off his face.

Sara giggled. "I'm sorry."

A grin broke through. "No, you're not."

She didn't bother to deny it. "You look like a drowned cat," she said.

"And so will you if you're not careful!" he exclaimed joyfully, flicking a little water at her.

"Now children," Marcy said in a chuckle, unable to disguise her amusement, "can we resume? Gil, you think you're up to it?"

Grissom gave Marcy a small nod of the head. "Only if Sara promises to behave herself."

"Told you I was a handful," Sara teased.

Grissom's muttered reply was drowned out by her joyful laughter. The rest of the session continued in perfect synchronisation and without any more mishaps, but finished far too soon for Sara who was having far too much fun to want to stop. She was being hoisted out of the water when Franck waved at her from the therapy pool next to hers. She flashed him a giddy smile.

Grissom leaned in toward her. "Who's that?" he asked over the whirring sound of the machine.

Had she detected a jealous edge to his voice? "Franck," she replied easily, turning toward him. She smiled as she caught him studying the much younger man from behind the disguise of towelling his face dry. "Lost both his legs to an RTA."

Grissom refocused a look of surprise on her. "Like Doc," he said musingly.

The chair rotated in a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, and Sara's head and chest slowly did the same in the opposite direction. "Doc?"

"Doctor Robbins. He's head pathologist at CSI and a good friend of ours. He was asking about you this morning actually, wondered if he and Judith could come and visit, but he understands if you'd rather they didn't. He lost both his legs too to a traffic collision – many, many years ago."

A picture of an older man, older than Grissom, with grey hair, laughing blue eyes and a crutch flashed in front of her. "Today?" she asked distractedly.

He gave his head a puzzled shake then laughed. "No. Not today. Shall I tell them it's a yes then?" he asked, as lost in thoughts she'd lapsed into silence.

Refocusing she gave him an absent nod. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Mind?" he repeated, as he helped transfer her into the awaiting wheelchair. Marcy wrapped a towel round her shoulders.

"Me and Franck being friends; Marcy introduced us."

"Of course not," he said, glancing up toward Marcy, "It's nice that you're making new friends." His hand came up to Sara's face and smiling he wiped a few beads of water from her cheek. She shivered. "You're cold," he said, pulling back, and Sara gave him a soft smile, almost telling him that it wasn't the cold that had caused her shiver but his touch.

When, half an hour later, she came out of the changing room Grissom was waiting for her in the lobby. Standing in profile he was watching the activity in the pool through the viewing window, and she took a moment to study him, smiling at the sight of his still wet and tousled curls. Her smile turned wistful as she wondered how long it would be until she could run her fingers through them. The aide pushed the wheelchair to him.

"Waiting for someone?" she asked, desperately trying to keep the smile out of her voice.

Immediately he whipped round toward her, a ready smile on his lips. "Only for a pretty brunette with a gorgeous smile," he said, his smile turning cheeky. "You wouldn't happen to have seen her, would you?"

Sara's grin widened pleasurably, and Grissom winked, then looked up at the aide as he said, "I think I can take it from here. Thank you." The aide had a parting word with Sara and Grissom took her place behind the chair.

"You look tired," she said, looking over her shoulder.

"And you look good," he retorted, smiling as he leaned down to press a 'Hello' kiss on her temple. Pulling back he shrugged. "It was a long night."

Sara nodded and watched as he hung the sports bag she recognised as hers from a life before him on the chair's handle. She knew his preoccupation didn't lie with work, but rather with the situation her brother had created by coming and laying claim to her care. Her body tensed up, her lips pinching and trembling at the mere thought. He'd visited daily since her seizure, acted the part of the caring big brother to perfection, and she knew that the fact that she spoke little to nothing to him when he visited was detrimental to her case. But she couldn't help it. Every time he was around she panicked and froze. She was scared of Matthew; underneath hid a cold-blooded bully, the same kind of bully her father had been, but more importantly she was petrified at her powerlessness at deciding her own fate.

The purple bruising on his jaw had given her pause at first. He hadn't mentioned it, and neither had she, but she'd guessed at its provenance when she remembered noticing Grissom's self-conscious and constant rubbing of the knuckles of his right hand. When later she'd asked him about it he had feigned ignorance but the fear in her mother's eyes had told her all she needed to know. Since that day though, she'd noticed a change in Grissom, a new purpose in his demeanour. Maybe hitting Matthew had been the wake-up call he needed to get back on his feet and take charge of the situation.

John Grady, a lawyer specialising in medical lawsuits, had come highly recommended and had got the ball rolling to crush Matthew's assertions that her mental acuity was deficient and that he should be given her powers of attorney to act on her behalf. Hopefully, when confronted with all the medical evidence they were in the process of gathering and reviewing, Matthew would drop the case. But what Sara still couldn't fathom was the motive for Matthew's actions. After so many years of being estranged why would he want the burden – both emotional and financial – of looking after her?

"Shall we?" Grissom said, drawing her back to the moment.

Sara looked up and beamed up at him. "Lead on, Macduff."

His face lit up with mischief. "Now you're misquoting Shakespeare at me?"

Sara made a pout. "Misquoting?"

He gave her a nod and began pushing her toward the exit. "I think you'll find Macbeth's famous last words were: '_Lay_ on, Macduff, and damned be him who first cries-'"

"Hold!" Sara shouted, fully getting in the part and startling a few people in the vicinity.

Laughing Grissom acquiesced with a bow of his head. "Absolutely."

"Take a left here," she said, as they exited the building.

He paused. "You're not hungry?"

"I'm starving, but I can wait a little. I want to soak up a little sun first; it's a beautiful day."

"The quad, it is then," he said, changing course, "But just for a little while. It'll be time for your meds soon."

Sara closed her eyes, letting the sun's rays warm her face as he pushed her. Soon he came to a stop and hearing him move about as he put on the brakes she reopened her eyes. They were in their usual spot in what they'd come to refer to as their bench in their garden, and Sara felt confident to finally ask about his chat with John Grady – well, in a roundabout kind of way.

"I like Maddy," she said as he sat down. "She seems to know you well, to care for you a lot."

"She does," he said, slanting his face up at the sky and closing his eyes, "On both counts." He smiled and shrugged. "We've known each other ever since I came to Vegas from Minnesota. She'd just become assistant DA and we worked a lot of cases together. She was full of drive and ambition. Still is."

It was her turn to feel a little jealous. "Did you and her…_date_?"

"Date?" he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching up with a smile. "No." He threw her a quick sideways glance. "Well, we did go out on a few dates, I guess, in the beginning, but never on a _date_ date." He paused, his face taking on a thoughtful look. "I've always been more suited to friendships than affairs anyway," he mused as if he'd only just come to the realisation. He shrugged. "She was recently divorced – her first one – and we were both too busy with our jobs anyway."

"What changed that?"

"What changed what?" he asked, opening his eyes and turning toward her. She lifted a small shoulder and he burst out in a soft, heart-warming chuckle, the index finger of his right hand rising to her nose and tapping its side. "You did, Miss Sidle. You changed that. Slowly. Gradually. You broke down every single one of my carefully-constructed defences until…I realised I was making us both unhappy." He gave her another soft smile. "I just wish it hadn't taken you so long."

"_Me_?" she asked with disbelief.

"Me," he amended with a reluctant lift of his shoulder.

"I don't regret anything," she said in a quiet reflective voice. "Not even the fact that I can't remember any of that. Not everybody gets given a second chance."

"No, they don't."

"I think things happen for a reason. To make us stronger, so we can make different choices in our life."

"Do you really believe that?" he asked with surprise.

She nodded and he pursed his mouth in thought. "I'm happy," she said. "I know it's strange, and that I should be feeling angry at what's happened to me, that I should be scared and worried about the future and I am, but when I am here with you I'm happy." Her voice wobbled. "My brother-" the words caught in her throat and she sighed.

He turned on the bench toward her and took both her hands in his. "Oh, honey," he said, looking up with tears in his eyes. "It's going to be okay. I've already told you, Matthew won't win this. He _can't_ win. That's what John's call was about," he explained, laughing. "And so you know, he was Maddy Klein's _first_ husband, and also her third. Anyway, he's arranged for independent court-appointed doctors to review your medical files and perform a series of mental and psychological tests on you."

"When?"

"As early as next week, he hopes," he said, squeezing her hands.

"So soon?"

He nodded. "As soon as the courts know what we do," he dropped one of her hands and tapped her temple, "that you're still as sharp in there as ever we're going to file so that whoever gets your powers of attorney can only _execute_ your decisions, not make them for you. I want the choices to be yours, Sara, and yours only."

Her gaze averting she nodded. "I want you to have them."

His hand came up to her face and he stroked her cheek. "I know, sweetheart, but it might not be as simple as that. Legally, your mother's still your next of kin."

"But Mattie's contesting that."

"Yes, he is, but we hope that once he realises that he won't be able to do what he wants with you he'll drop the case."

Marriage had never mattered much to Sara in the past, in the past she remembered anyway, but maybe if they were married, if they got married now it would solve all their problems with Matthew. "I hope so," she said, mustering a small smile.

Dipping his head he held her gaze. "Where's that gorgeous smile gone, huh?" he asked softly, causing a wider smile to break across her face. "That's better. And you know," he added in a casual tone, "we could always elope."

She burst out in a giggle. "Elope?" He gave her a slow solemn nod. "Promise?"

"I promise." He leaned across for a kiss. "Now, come on, I need to take you back inside for your lunch before I get told off a second time." He paused and stared at her with narrowed, slightly mischievous eyes. "But first, answer me that."

Sara's eyes widened with excitement. "Yes," she said with confidence.

He frowned. "But you don't know what I'm going to ask yet!"

"Sorry."

His smile became shy, almost tentative, and she braced herself for what she was sure was coming. "I was wondering whether you'd…you'd like to…well, I haven't cleared it with Dr Williamson yet, but…" he paused and Sara's face screwed up with impatience. He blew out a breath, staring deep in her eyes as he asked, "How would you feel if we – if I took you home for the afternoon?"

"Home?"

"_Our_ home."

Her eyes were wide with glee. "Today?"

He winced. "Well, maybe not today, but soon."

Her face softened with love. "I'd love to."


	30. Chapter 30

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Dr Williamson said as he strode into his office and round his desk.

Grissom stood up with a start. "Your secretary let me in," he said, sitting down again when the doctor motioned for him to do so.

Dr Williamson loosened the knot on his tie and undid his shirt's top button as he sat down. "You've had lunch?" he asked flashing Grissom a pleasant smile, and to Grissom's puzzled nod added, "You mind if I have mine while we talk?"

"Not at all," Grissom said in a chuckle.

Dr Williamson picked up his phone and after a short wait told his secretary to bring him some lunch. "So, Sara's taking a nap?" he then asked him as he put the phone back on the cradle.

"No," he replied, a fond smile spreading over his face. "When I left she was…solving crimes."

The doctor's brow lifted in interest. "Solving crimes?"

"She's playing Clue," he explained a little diffidently, "with a couple of CSI friends. They've made up their own rules, added a few suspects and murder weapons, just to make the game more interesting." His shoulders rose in a helpless manner. "If her brother could just see her when she's happy like this; if he could just see that her mind is still as sharp as it ever was…" he let his words drift off with a long sigh.

"Why can't he?" the doctor asked when Grissom faltered. "Why can't he see her for who she is?"

Grissom shrugged. "Sara's a shadow of herself when he's around – sullen and unresponsive. It's like the only way she can cope with his presence is by shutting it out, and with it everything else around her."

The doctor pondered his words for a moment. "Do you think she's scared of him?"

"Oh, most definitely," he replied. "And now she's petrified he's going to take her away against her will."

"That won't happen."

"You and I know that, but Sara worries the courts will rule his way, and sadly it wouldn't be the first time they'd get it wrong."

"I can't claim I know Sara very well, but from what I've seen of her so far and the way you speak of her I'm surprised she is reacting like this."

"I know. There's something there I can't put my finger on," he said not wanting to divulge the details of the breakup of Sara's family – not that he held all of them himself anyway.

"You should have seen Dr Flanders's face when he read the particulars of her case on Saturday," the doctor said musingly, "The seizure itself was a positive miracle in his eyes. We've discussed it at length actually."

"Discussed what?" Grissom asked, baffled by the change in direction, "the seizure?"

"No. The court case Mr Sidle's putting together."

"Ah."

"If the need arose we'd both be happy to testify in Sara's support. We do genuinely believe and have the tests results to prove it that Sara's in full possession of her mental faculties. Sadly her physical disabilities and speech impediment make it hard for people outside her immediate circle to appreciate that, but in our eyes there is no doubt."

"Thank you," he said with a grateful smile, then went on to explain about the independent cognitive tests John Grady was arranging for Sara.

"Tell him he has the Centre's full cooperation." Grissom nodded his thanks, and the doctor's eyes narrowed musingly. "Maybe we need to get him to see her for who she is without her knowing."

"Who? John?

"No. Her brother."

A look of puzzlement filled Grissom's features. "How do you mean?"

"Leave it with me," the doctor said, picking up his pen and scribbling a few words in his diary, "I may have an idea."

Grissom stared at the doctor for a moment waiting for an explanation, but before he could ask what he meant there was a quiet tap at the open door and his secretary walked in, carrying a trey with a couple of sandwiches, a side salad and a can of Dr Pepper.

"Thank you, Margaret," Dr Williamson said as she set the trey down on a corner of his desk. He picked up the bowl of salad and pulled a pained face.

"Is it okay if I go now?" the secretary asked, "Only it's already past three and-"

"Sure," he said, swapping the salad for a triangle of sandwich and pulling the sides apart, "I'm sorry the meeting ran on so late. I'll see you tomorrow."

Margaret left them with a parting smile, closing the door behind her.

Dr Williamson stared at the sandwich – tuna fish on rye bread – and shook his head with disbelief while he flattened the sides back together. "I think my wife's had a word with her," he told Grissom with a mock-despondent twist of his lips and a nod toward the door. "Anyway, how's the dog training going?" he then asked, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

Grissom's face lit up with a smile. "It's…_going_, I guess you could say. We've only had a couple of sessions so far, and Hank is proving a most reticent pupil. Too eager, Ron says, which in this case _isn__'__t_ a good thing."

"It'll be fine," the doctor said laughing as he chewed. "Sara's not yet at the stage where dog therapy would be useful anyway. There's plenty of time for Hank to get it together." He reached for his can and took a long swig.

Grissom's thoughts drifted to Sara and he smiled. "I can't wait until she's at that stage. I'm simply in awe of her strength, her resilience, her drive to succeed and get better," he said out of nowhere, and taking another hungry mouthful of his sandwich the doctor looked up and nodded his head. Grissom's smile became wistful. "She's always been this strong, fearfully-independent woman, this beautiful woman who beat so many odds in her life to become the best she could be…"

His eyes averted downward self-consciously. A glass paperweight sitting over a pile of documents next to the trey of food caught his eye and he stopped talking abruptly to pick it up. Frowning he turned it around in his hand, a smile breaking across his face as he recognised the small gossamer white flower of a midnight cactus encased within the glass. Happy memories of a not-so-distant past flooded him, and shaking his head he put the paperweight back down on the desk before looking up and meeting the doctor's eye. "I'm sorry," he said, his smile fading. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"I do," the doctor said leaning back in his chair. He wiped the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. "It's easy to forget how tough life _afterwards_ is for the families too." Grissom's eyes lowered back to the paperweight. "Rehab's all about the patients and how to get them back on their feet – so to speak. But it's as hard, if not harder for the families."

Grissom looked up and nodded his head. "I miss her," he said, then flashed the doctor a brief shaky smile before once again dipping his eyes to the desk. His lips pinching to stop their tremor he took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

"I understand you've recently gone back to work?" Dr Williamson said.

Puzzled by the change in tack Grissom snapped his head up. The doctor was watching him with a soft reflective smile, and uncomfortable under the scrutiny he looked away.

"You're having to continue with your life, a life Sara shared before her accident both on a personal and professional level since these two lives are so intricately intertwined in your case, while she's here. It's perfectly normal that you should feel this way and miss her. There's nothing to feel guilty or embarrassed about. It's not a sign of weakness either than to admit it. Life moves on, and yours and Sara's has changed." He paused, waiting for Grissom to look up to say, "Have you thought about seeing a counsellor?"

Grissom heaved a great sigh and pulled a face.

"I can see the prospect doesn't fill you with much enthusiasm."

"Talking about my feelings on a scheduled basis to a stranger who doesn't know what I'm going through isn't something that would work for me."

Smiling Dr Williamson gave a nod of understanding. "My door is always open," he said and lifted a shoulder in a mild shrug. "Whether you'll find me sitting behind my desk is another matter." And just as quickly he changed tack again, adding in a quiet voice, "Sara is sure one of a kind."

Grateful that the doctor wasn't pushing the idea of the therapist he smiled. "She is."

"And you're doing great with her. She couldn't achieve what she achieves every day without you by her side. Yes, she is a strong independent woman who desperately wants to, and works very hard at getting better. But she feeds off your strength and her relentless drive comes from wanting to be that girl again, the girl you know and remember." And love, was left unsaid.

"You think so?"

"You don't?" Grissom shrugged his answer, and chuckling Dr Williamson shoved the last morsel of sandwich in his mouth before washing it down with a swig of Dr Pepper. "Anyway, you wanted to see me?"

"Ah, yes," Grissom said, a smile immediately breaking, "I almost forgot." His gaze averted, then looked up decisively. "I want to take Sara out – I mean properly."

"So, your little trips out to the quad aren't enough anymore?"

"How do you know about that?" he asked with surprise, then pursed his face in mock-annoyance. "Let me guess, CCTV."

Dr Williamson's grin was wide and pleasurable. "Nope. Sara's mentioned it – quite a few times actually. It's the highlight of her days, or so she tells me. Although after what happened in the pool earlier she might change her mind."

Grissom gave a chuckle. "You heard about that already?"

"Sure," the doctor said easily. "That, we got on camera, but I promise not to leak it."

Grissom gave his head a disbelieving shake. His eyes lowered, then averted back up. "So about this idea of mine…"

"It depends," the doctor replied, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. "What did you have in mind?"

Grissom's face brightened. "So it's not a 'No'?"

"No," the doctor said, his smile widening, "It's not a 'No'." He paused and studied Grissom closely. "A date?" he asked, his brow lifting in enquiry.

There was a pause. "Yes."

"So a chaperone would-"

"Most definitely," he said and shrugged. "But beggars can't be choosers, and I'll take what you give me."

"Are we talking an afternoon out?"

Grissom's shoulder rose uncertainly.

"No overnight stay. It's far too soon for that and Sara wouldn't be able to cope, or you for that matter. I think at the moment a couple of hours would be quite manageable."

Grissom's smile was shy. "It's more than I could ever have hoped for a few weeks ago."

"I expect you've taken all the practicalities into consideration?"

"Practicalities?"

"As regards transportation, for example. Sara's chair's bulky and heavy, even if we provide you with a fold-away one. Could you manage to lift her in and out of the car safely? Remember her condition makes her a lot heavier than she appears to be, and at the moment she will feel like a dead weight. Also you are well aware of her limitations; I mean as regards her routines, the times for her medication, going to the bathroom. All this needs to be taken into account."

The doctor's forthright advice gave Grissom pause and he remained silent and somewhat deflated as he questioned the feasibility of his plan.

"What about crowds?" Dr Williamson went on asking, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"Crowds?"

"Sara's not been out in the big wide world since before her attack. Here at the Centre, she is safe, sheltered from people's gazes. Even if they don't mean to people will stare and make her feel…aware. I wouldn't want her confidence to be knocked down."

Grissom swallowed. "Are you telling me this is a bad idea? That I shouldn't take her out?"

"No, not at all," Dr Williamson said laughing. "I'm merely pointing out that what you think of as an easy outing will need careful planning and consideration." Grissom gave a thoughtful nod. "Where did you have in mind for your…date?"

Grissom's eyes lowered self-consciously. "I was just going to take her home – to our house." He brought his gaze back up. "She doesn't remember it, you see and I was hoping that going there, spending a little time there with Hank might trigger some memories."

"Going home is a good idea. What about the house itself?"

"What about it?"

"How wide is the doorway for example? Could the chair fit through easily? What about manoeuvring it around furniture? Any stairs?"

Grissom's heart sank at the mention of stairs and he closed his eyes at the crushing disappointment that filled him. He felt confident he could lift her in and out of the car but up and down a whole flight of stairs? Maybe if he waited a few more weeks until his arm was stronger? A dull ache had already appeared after the session in the pool. "Okay," he said, sighing in defeat. "Maybe I haven't thought this through enough."

Dr Williamson's gaze was soft and understanding. "What was it? The stairs?" To Grissom's small answering nod and smile he said, "It might be better to take her home on your second date; you wouldn't want her to get the wrong idea anyway. But first I'm going to arrange that you get some basic training on how to lift, take care and handle Sara by yourself, for your safety and hers." He picked up his pen again and scribbled a few more words in his diary. "I'll speak to Marcy, see what she can organise for you in the next few days."

"Thank you," Grissom said, then added with a sigh, "Sara's going to be so disappointed. My fault for getting her hopes up, I guess."

"Mr Grissom," Dr Williamson said, and he refocused, "I think that taking Sara out of the Centre for the afternoon is a great idea – provided it goes well. I believe that mentally she's ready for it, but as I've said it needs to be planned carefully. We want it to be a positive experience for her, not one which is going to highlight her limitations and hinder her progress."

"What do you suggest?"

"Maybe for your fist time," he said pointedly, a small smile of amusement tugging at his lip, "take her out on a drive. That way you won't have to take her out of the car and worry about transferring her onto the chair on your own. The drive itself will be wonderful for Sara, believe me. After all these weeks in the hospital and then here, she's going to be on cloud nine just to be able to see the outside world again."

Grissom nodded, his eyes averting to the desk. A smile of anticipation spread over his face as he caught sight of the paperweight. "I know," he said excitedly, looking up. "I know exactly where I'm going to take her. Our first date all over again. It's perfect."

"Good," Dr Williamson said with a smile, "I'm glad I could be of service. Let me know all the details in due course and I'll make sure someone's available to help get Sara ready."

"Thank you," Grissom said, smiling, and standing up stuck out his right hand at the doctor, "For…everything."

Dr Williamson got to his feet and smiling shook the proffered hand warmly. "You're very welcome. Nice to see your arm back in full working order," he said with a nod at his arm.

Grissom nodded. "If only everything was as easy to fix as broken bones."

"Come on, you're not the moping type," the doctor chided mildly, "and neither is Sara. She's…been asking for her iPod actually."

Grissom understood then that behind a pleasant and easy-going exterior lay a very shrewd and perceptive man who had fathomed exactly the best way to handle someone like him. "She hasn't said anything to me," he said looking up with surprise. The doctor's brow rose, and he sighed. "I don't know," he replied finally, "What do you think? It is safe for her to have it?"

Dr Williamson shrugged his shoulder. "We still don't know for certain that it's what caused her seizure in the first place, and if it was she's now taking the appropriate medication to minimise the risk of more seizures."

"Minimise, not eliminate."

The doctor acknowledged his interjection with a nod. "Did you manage to find out which song she was listening to when she had her seizure?"

"No. By the time I got to the iPod it had run out of battery; the nurse must have left it on when she removed it. Even if we could ascertain how much time elapsed and work our way back to a particular song we can't know for sure how much battery was left so…"

Dr Williamson's eyes were wide with disbelief, his smile even more so. "You had your guys at CSI take a look at it, didn't you?"

"Of course," he replied matter-of-fact taking a couple of steps toward the door.

The doctor gave his head a shake. "It would be a lot easier just to…ask her, you know?"

"I know."

It was with a smile on his face and a spring in his step that Grissom left the doctor's office and headed back to Sara's room. Fully expecting to find Greg and Nick still there he slotted the key card in the lock and opened the door without a thought. His smile dropped immediately on seeing Matthew and not the guys alone with Sara. He stopped at the threshold, his eyes flicking from Sara to Matthew and back again. Matthew was sitting on a chair across from Sara in the wheelchair, holding her hand. Clue lay discarded, unpacked on the table. The door swung shut of its own accord, startling him into action.

"Matthew," he greeted with a tense nod and quickly moving to Sara's side he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.

Matthew released Sara's hand and stood up, moving away toward the bed, and Grissom was sure he heard a breath of relief leave her.

"The guys have gone?" he asked softly as he pulled back despite the answer sadly being apparent.

"GotcallCafrine," she said in a low voice, and his heart sank at how much worse, at how much more cluttered her speech was all of a sudden, at how dull and lacklustre her normally bright eyes were.

Making eye contact he stared at her and smiled, apologising with his eyes for not being there when her brother had arrived before flicking them to Matthew's back as he mouthed, "You okay?"

She gave him a wan smile and a sad look that said, "Talk to him, please, make him go away."

His hand moving to her cheek he stroked gently and nodded his head at her. "So who won?" he asked loudly, feigning a cheeriness he was far from feeling.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: An earlier than usual treat, because it's Sunday and I'm feeling better, that and hubby took the kids to his parents for the weekend so I could recover just in time to go back to work. How thoughtful. It did free up a lot of time, though. ;-)

I didn't want to end the chapter on a sad note (The Nestling Dolls scene déjà-vu) so I added to it and it became quite long; I'm working very hard at balancing angst with hopeful optimism and I hope it works.

Oh, and some parts were quite emotional to write. Maybe, just maybe, keep a corner of tissue handy.

* * *

><p>Relief flooded Sara as soon as she heard the sound of the key card in the door and she realised Grissom was back. Matthew had arrived ten minutes after Nick and Greg had grudgingly departed, leaving their last game of Clue unfinished. Close to winning Sara had insisted they didn't pack up the game so that they could finish it on their next visit, promising when they'd doubted her that she wouldn't peek at the cards. She liked playing Clue with the guys; she could lose herself in the game and forget about her limitations for a while as they made up gradually more elaborated crime scenes and scenarios every time.<p>

Greg had joked that soon she'd be ready to help solve some real crimes but Nick had nudged him in the side and the joke had fallen flat. She'd given Greg a long knowing grin, suggesting with a wink that they tried poker instead. The two CSI's had shared a look and smile she hadn't understood, and when questioned about it had cleverly dodged a reply, referring her to Grissom instead. Was she a lousy player maybe and they were too kind to tell her? She knew she could play; she remembered playing a few times in college. She'd ask Grissom; he'd tell her.

Matthew's arrival had put a stop to her musings and cheeriness. She'd thought it was Grissom at the door and had plastered her widest grin on her lips in anticipation but the disappointment at seeing her brother and not him enter had been crushing, the change in her mood and demeanour immediate and striking. She knew it was happening, but couldn't help it. It was like a light was being switched off inside her and her mind went into sleep mode.

For the last fifteen minutes, judging by the slow ticking hands of the wall clock in her room, she'd silently endured his presence by her side, his sweaty hand on her hand, while he talked of the wonderful place he had found for her in Baltimore, far from their mother, far from Sin City as he constantly referred to Las Vegas as but more importantly for Sara far from everything and everyone she held dear. Why couldn't she find the strength, the courage to speak up and stand up to him?

Registering a look of alarm Grissom moved quickly to her side. His lips on her cheek gave her strength and acted like a switch in her brain. Matthew dropped her hand and moved away, and the light flickered back on. The breath that had got stuck in her throat slowly escaped and she closed her eyes at the wave of relief that washed over her.

"The guys have gone?" he asked in a quiet whisper as he pulled back.

Her eyes reopened. "They got a call from Catherine," she said, her heart sinking at the look of pain that crossed his features. Her speech was bad, it had to be, and she realised that she'd been right not to talk to Matthew and let him see for himself how bad it got.

Grissom's smile was soft and reassuring, encouraging and understanding too; his deep blue eyes – eyes at that moment she so wanted to lose herself in – said all she needed to hear. He glanced at Matthew who must have had his back to them because he asked, "You okay?"

She gave him a tired smile, saying with her eyes, "Talk to him, please, make him go away."

Grissom understood immediately for he simply nodded his head at her. His hand moved to her face and she leaned into his touch, her eyes once again closing. "So who won?" he asked, his fingers discreetly wiping a little drool from her chin. She hadn't even felt it.

"It was a draw," she replied without thinking, keeping her eyes closed. "We'll finish the game next time they come round."

She felt Grissom shift position in front of her and sit down on the chair Matthew had just vacated. His hand covered hers and he squeezed it warmly, imparting yet more strength. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "You play Clue, Matthew?" he asked pleasantly enough, looking up to a point behind her and she hated that she couldn't turn to see where her brother was, what he was doing, if he was touching her things.

"Not since I was a child," Matthew replied. She heard a soft thump as he put something down onto the cabinet near her bed, and she knew he'd been looking at the recently-framed picture of her, Grissom and Hank taken by the fountain in the quad by one of the nurses. "A young child," he added, turning around toward them.

Sara's eyes refocused on Grissom who bristled at the insinuation. She could see it from the way the muscles in his jaw clenched and the corner of his mouth twitched. He was opening his mouth when she moved her fingers beneath his to still his angry words before they left his lips. More violence between the two men wouldn't solve anything and would only help Matthew in his quest. When her intervention did nothing to stop Grissom she jerked her hand up but she put too much power in the move, swinging the whole of her arm up instead, causing his hand to fly up in the air.

"Did she do that by herself?" Matthew asked with surprise.

Grissom's eyes lowered to Sara and he smiled. "I'm sorry, honey," he said softly, then glancing up to Matthew replied in the same soft voice, "Of course she did."

"Why doesn't she show any reaction when I'm with her?" her brother said.

"Why don't you ask her, Matthew?" Grissom retorted. "She's perfectly capable of speaking for herself." His eyes averted back to hers, probing and encouraging. "Sara?"

Tears welled in the corner of her eyes and she shook her head.

His smile fading he heaved a deep sigh. "She's…very tired," he said. Standing up he flashed Matthew an apologetic smile. "She had a particularly gruelling physiotherapy session in the pool this morning that took quite a lot out of her."

"Why did you hide her amnesia from me?" Matthew asked, and Sara flinched at the venomous tone in her brother's voice. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"Of course not," Grissom replied uncertainly, his eyes flicking down to Sara and then back up. "Everything's in her medical files. I thought you'd read them."

"I shouldn't have had to find out from my lawyer about it. It feels contrived, like you didn't want me to know, and I can't help wondering why that is. As I understand it Sara doesn't remember her life post-98, which includes you and her life in Vegas." There was a short pause, and Sara could well imagine the smirk on her brother's face. "Is that right?"

"Yes, but-"

"How do I know that _this_ isn't just an act? How do I know you're not taking advantage of her and of how gullible and vulnerable she is in her present state?"

Stunned by Matthew's words Grissom stared at him blankly for an instant before he found his voice. Reaching down he grasped Sara's hand and clutching it up against his leg said in an incredulous voice, "But why would I want to do that? I love Sara. We have a life together. A life I treasure."

"Correction, Mr Grissom, you _had_ a life together. A life Sara doesn't remember."

Sara had heard enough. She couldn't stand the way Matthew was talking to Grissom, as though he was an impostor, a conman, a fraud. "I remember," she said in a low, shaky voice. "I remember."

Slowly she concentrated all her effort into turning her head but she couldn't get the angle right to see where her brother was in the room. Both men stopped talking and Grissom's gaze snapped down, the smile on his lips incredibly loving and proud. Understanding what she was trying to do Grissom moved behind her and manoeuvred the chair round until her eyes met her brother's dead on. Her lips wobbled, but she kept her gaze up despite her terror at what he could do to her.

"That's not what it says in your file," Matthew told her, taking a step closer and lifting an accusatory finger. "In your file-"

"I remember enough," she said firmly, squaring up her shoulders as much as she could and interrupting him mid-sentence.

Matthew took a step closer toward the pair. "How can you say that?" he countered vehemently, pointing an angry finger.

Grissom stepped in. "There's no need to attack her, no need for this animosity, Matthew. I'm sure we can have a sensible conversation where each of us put our point across without feeling intimidated. Because that's what you're doing to Sara, Matthew, you're intimidating her."

Matthew scoffed. "You would say that, wouldn't you? If she's feeling intimidated," he said, miming quote marks, "it's because of the lies you have fed her about me."

"What lies?" Grissom retorted heatedly, echoing her own unspoken words. "I don't know the first thing about you. Until two months ago you were non-existent. In all the years I've known Sara she mentioned you a handful of times and never in any great detail or particularly fondly."

Ignoring Grissom's tirade Matthew redirected darkened eyes to Sara. "How do you know that what he's telling you is the truth?"

"I don't remember everything," she said truthfully. She swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth and took a breath, making herself visualise what she was about to say the way Paula had taught her to do. Keeping her eyes steadfast on her brother she added, "But I remember enough." She formed more words in her mind. "I remember enough to know that I love him. I remember enough to know that the life we had was one of a kind."

Grissom squeezed her hand causing the tears she was desperately trying to keep in to spill but she kept her eyes on Matthew regardless. This was her one chance to make him see, to make him understand how wrong he was about everything.

"Before the accident we lived together," she went on between short pants. "We worked together. We have a dog together." She looked up at Grissom who was watching her with tears in his eyes, and smiled tenderly at him. "And hopefully we can still have a future together." She paused to catch her breath and Grissom gave her hand another long squeeze. She turned back toward Matthew and took a few breaths, saying very slowly, "I should have died that day in the park but I didn't. I don't know why, and I don't care why, but I've been given a second chance at life and I'm going to make the most of it."

Matthew stared at Sara for a moment and she couldn't tell if it was because of his disbelief at the words she was speaking or because he hadn't made out any of it. Then he let out a long breath and nodded his head before averting his eyes to his feet and turning away. Sara glanced up at Grissom who winked his eye at her giddily and she allowed herself to hope that what she'd said would put end to Matthew's dispute.

"Don't think this is the end of it," Matthew said, and her heart sank. "My lawyer's putting a case together arguing why it will be more...beneficial for Sara to come with me to Baltimore."

Sara's face fell and she tightened the hold she had on Grissom's hand, clutching it as she would a lifeline. More tears spilled. "I don't want to go to Baltimore," she said in small childlike voice, her fears once again getting the better of her. She glanced toward Grissom pleadingly. "Please don't let him take me to Baltimore with him."

"Oh, sweetheart," Grissom gasped, falling to his knees by her side and framing her face with his hands. Gentle thumbs wiped over her cheeks and he kissed her face. "I won't. I won't let him take you away, I promise."

Her brother scoffed.

"Why are you doing this, Matthew?" Grissom asked, anger and desperation creeping into his voice. Matthew was at the door now with his hand on the handle and he turned to face them. "Sara doesn't want to go to Baltimore. She couldn't have made it plainer. It's also obvious that you have no case to put forward to the courts. Sara's in full possession of her mental faculties and you've just seen it for yourself. Proving the contrary to the courts is futile. You only need to ask around; everybody will tell you the same thing. Sara's doctors and therapists are all in agreement, and prepared to testify in her support, as are all her friends." He paused and let out a long fraught breath. "She is terrified of you, Matthew, that's why she behaves differently when you're around. Can't you see that?"

Sara flinched and closed her eyes. She'd worked so hard not to show her brother how scared she was. And now that he knew he would surely act on it.

"Who's scaring her now?" Matthew said in a snigger, misinterpreting her reaction.

"Can you leave us now, please?" Grissom pleaded urgently. "We'll just have to go and fight it out in court."

"May the best man win."

Grissom sprang up to his feet and the next thing Sara heard was her brother's cold chuckle as he finally left. And then silence, a big crushing silence, a silence so permeating that for an instant she wondered whether Grissom had followed Matthew out of the room, leaving her all by herself. Slowly she reopened her eyes to find Grissom sitting on the edge of the bed. He was leaning forward holding his head in his hands, covering his eyes. He let out a long breath.

A look of worry immediately filled her face. "You okay?" she asked, her right arm instinctively lifting toward him. "You got a migraine?"

His head whipped up out of his hands and he turned questioning eyes toward her. "How do you know I suffer from migraines?"

Sara opened her mouth to answer, then paused and shrugged. Her hand lowered to her lap. "I don't know. It just came to me. Why, you don't?"

He gave her a soft smile. "I do."

"Now?" she asked with concern.

He gave his head a gentle shake. "I'm sorry I didn't handle your brother better than that. I don't know why he's refusing to see what is staring him in the face." Jumping off the edge of the bed he joined her side, pulling the chair round in front of her to sit on and taking her hands. "He won't win this, Sara. His words are empty threats, and I think he's starting to realise that." He paused, his gaze becoming earnest, his voice soft but probing. "Why are you so scared of him, huh? Tell me, honey please. Help me understand. He seems to have a hold over you and you're such a strong, determined person normally that…" she looked down and the rest of his sentence died on his lips. He sighed and dipping his head made eye contact, smiling as he asked tentatively, "He never did anything to you when you were young, did he?"

Sara's heart broke for him and what was going through his head. "No," she said in a whisper, "he didn't. But it's there, in his eyes, in his voice, he's just like my father. The first time he came to visit me here he said things, things that brought about a vision."

"A vision?" he queried with puzzlement. "Like a recollection?"

She nodded. "Except that it's all muddled up in my head and I can't make sense of it."

"What is it?"

"Like a premonition. Random bits from a conversation I had with a woman telling me to be careful. To stay away, that there was a dark side to him. That he was dangerous."

"Dangerous how? Violent?"

"I don't know."

Grissom remained silent for a long time and Sara's eyes drifted shut, her head lolling to the side with tiredness as she thought about all that was happening in her life. She heard him move and then felt his handkerchief wipe her chin. "You must be remembering a conversation you had in the recent past," he said musingly. "I mean, maybe when you looked up your mother, you looked up your brother too."

Sara's eyes snapped open, full of surprise. "I looked up my mother? When?"

"A year and a half ago maybe? Just before you and I got together. I don't know all the details except…" his eyes lowered.

"It's okay," she said, "I know you know what happened to my father."

He smiled, nodding. "All I know is what you told me." He reached across with one hand and pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "That's all I know Sara. You looked up the details of her file on our database – found an address for her. She was out of jail by then of course, had been for some years, and the address was old. She made contact with you not long afterwards, I believe."

Silently they stared at each other for a moment while Sara found the words to tell him what she'd never told anyone else. "When my mother got arrested, Mattie and I got taken into care. We got split up, but he said he'd come for me as soon as he could. He was almost eighteen by then anyway so he wasn't in the system for long but he never came for me. I waited. Every day I waited. I thought he'd come once he had a job, somewhere to live…" Tears filled her eyes again, and she looked down briefly and lifted her shoulder. "The department had an address for him but when I tried to contact him there he'd moved on, left the state. I looked for him everywhere I could. He never once tried to make contact with me, so that was it. I got myself emancipated to go to Harvard and then it was me on my own until I met you and the guys."

Blinking he smiled and nodded. "I'm very proud of you," he said, his voice choked up with emotion. "I'm very proud of how all your life you've beaten the odds and are still doing now." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her to him. "You're one in a million, Sara, and I'm lucky to have you. I love you, never lose sight of that." They remained like so for a moment before he pulled back. Then reaching for her hand he squeezed it, silently watching her for a long time while she wept, and Sara felt a strong sense of déjà-vu at the scene this evoked.

"I'm tired," she said when she was calmer, "and you need to get some sleep before shift tonight."

"I got to pick up your mother from the bus station first," he said in a warm chuckle.

"Can't Jim do that?"

A smile twisted the corner of his mouth at the suggestion but before he could reply his cell rang and he stood up, moving away to retrieve the phone from his jacket inner pocket lying at the end of the bed. "It's Maddy," he said with a frown, flicking the phone open, "I'll just see what she wants," and then, with a wink at Sara and a swooning voice, "Madeline, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

Sara's giggles soon faded as his face darkened while he listened intently to what Maddy had to say. Out of the blue his face lit up and he put his hand over the mouthpiece, mouthing excitedly, "It's good news," then took his hand off. "Hang on, Maddy, while I put you on loud speaker. I'm at Torrey Pines with Sara." Grissom pressed a key on the phone and covered the distance back to Sara, holding the phone up in the air between them.

"Hi Sara," came Maddy's smiley voice over the phone.

"Hi."

"Tell Sara what you just told me," he said.

"You know that I have a very trusted, very discreet PI watch your brother while he's in Vegas, right? And while digging in the Monaco, Carlos unearthed a little dirt – not so much that it would stick but enough for John and I to want to dig deeper. Carlos is on his way over to Baltimore as we speak."

"Monaco? In Europe?" Sara asked, turning a puzzled face toward Grissom. "I thought you said-"

"No," he chuckled, lifting her finger to stop her. "The Monaco is the hotel your brother's staying at, here in Vegas." Sara's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the smile that suddenly broke across his face and he lifted a casual shoulder as he explained, "That's actually where we-"

"Gil, please," Maddy cut in, faking boredom, "I got somewhere to be. Can it wait till I'm done?"

"Sure," Grissom said, laughing, and then to Sara, "Remind me to tell you afterwards. It'll make for a great bedtime story, I assure you."

Sara watched him with bafflement for an instant and then refocused. "Something illegal?" she asked deliberately slowly so as to be understood.

Maddy's laughter was warm and raspy. "There isn't anything wrong with your intellect is there, girl?" she said, quickly adding in a wry chuckle, "Illegal? No. Not here in Sin City."

Sara frowned. "What kind of dirt then?"

"The kind that could potentially be dirty."

"Come on, Maddy, enough with the riddles," Grissom protested.

"Well, that's all I have for you for now, so you're going to have to take it with a smile. I don't want to say too much in case it doesn't pan out. I'll call again when I know more, but I wanted to let you know. I'm glad I could speak to you both. I know how worried you are about this court case, however unfounded it is."

"Thanks Maddy," Grissom said.

"You considering this idea of mine yet?" she asked in a silky voice. "You know it would sort everything out, don't you?"

Sara fixed Grissom with narrowed enquiring eyes and letting out an uneasy chuckle he shrugged and shook his head. "Thanks for letting us know."

"Sara? Don't let him hang up!"

"I'll catch you later." With a wide smile to his lips Grissom disconnected the call. "Isn't this just great news?" He leaned across, his right arm wrapping around her shoulders for a hug.

Sara lifted her right arm and gave his side a pat. "The best."

He pulled back suddenly. "Ouch, that hurt!" he said, laughing.

"Too hard?" To his nod she added, "Sorry. I'm still training for when Hank comes."

"You can hit as hard as you want," he said with laughter in his voice.

"Him or you?"

His head shaking in mirth he once again pulled her to him. Sara leaned the side of her face onto his shoulder and closing her eyes took a deep breath and a moment to enjoy the feeling of contentment that filled her. She reopened her eyes when he pulled back and found him watching her again in that distant reflective way he was wont to do when he didn't think she was watching.

"Are you?" she asked, a warm teasing smile spreading over her face.

"Huh?"

"Considering Maddy's idea."

His eyes twinkled with mischief. "You'll know when I know."


	32. Chapter 32

Snapping his head up from the realtor's brochure he'd been perusing Grissom removed his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose picked up the ringing phone. "Grissom," he replied quietly, still subdued by all the information he'd just taken in.

"There's a call for you, Mr Grissom, sir, from Torrey Pines Rehabilitation Centre. Shall I put it through?"

Immediately on alert he straightened up in his chair, checked the time on his watch and switching hands reached for his cell on the desk. Checking it was on, which it was, he frowned. Why would the Centre ring CSI's main switchboard rather than his cell if they needed him?

"Thanks Judy," he said, nervously wiping the corners of his mouth as he waited for the call to be put through, and then a little apprehensively when he heard the tell-tale connecting click on the line, "Gil Grissom speaking."

There was a pause. "You too, werestritsnoname."

A wide grin broke across his face as making himself comfortable he leaned back in his seat. "Honey, you should be sleeping," he chided mildly, "But I appreciate you checking up on me."

"Mnot."

"What are you doing up at this time of night then, huh?"

He heard a long intake of breath and then, "You too, werestritsnoname."

Grissom scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head. "Me too?" he answered uncertainly.

There was a deep disparaging sigh, clearly put on, and he smiled. "You too, werestreetsno – name," she said again.

Making a loose fist with his free hand Grissom narrowed his gaze and repeated Sara's words, hoping that saying them aloud would help him decipher them. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said at last, conceding defeat, "you're catching me cold. Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Yes, tis." She paused and repeated steadily, making herself deliberately pause between each word, "You too - were streets no name."

He heard the hushed voice of the nurse in the background asking Sara if she wanted her to speak to him instead and then a clear and impatient, "No, Candoit-myself," that made him chuckle.

"Hang on, Sara," he said in an appeasing voice, slowly replaying her riddle in his head, "Just let me get my head round this. You too were the streets-"

"U2, the band," Greg said quietly from the doorway, and Grissom looked up with a frown, "Where the Streets Have No Name. It's got to be."

Grissom shot the CSI a dark look, whether it be for eavesdropping on his conversation with Sara or for solving the riddle for him wasn't clear. Greg however got the message loud and clear; his eyes widening, he mouthed, "I'll come back later," and hightailed it out of the way. Grissom got up and his head shaking pulled the cord on the phone as far as it would go and shut his office door.

"You heard that?" he asked.

"Cantsleep and wantmiPod – back," she said in a tired voice.

He sighed, his eyes lowering to his desk as he resumed his seat. "I thought the bedtime story had done the trick."

"Canav – miPod – backplease?" she asked again, her voice pleading softly.

His heart filled with love at her determination, and he knew he'd put it off long enough. Sara had told him what he wanted to know in exchange for her iPod. He'd meant to give it back to her after his chat with Dr Williamson anyway but Matthew's visit had put paid to his good intentions. "Tell the nurse it's in the left-hand-side drawer of the cabinet nearer the door."

"Tsbeen – here – alltime?" she exclaimed with disbelief, and then to the nurse in a quiet whisper, "Cango – check?"

An incredulous smile tugging at his lips he gave his head a shake. "You don't trust me?"

He heard the nurse put the phone down on a hard surface, and then Sara's faraway voice as she replied, "Wivevryfing – butmiPod."

His smile widened. "The best place to hide something is-"

"Inplainsight," she finished for him. "Shoudav - membered that."

He laughed. "Promise me no more U2, please," he then said, sobering up, "For me and my peace of mind. Okay?"

Her voice came louder again. "Promise."

His brow furrowed suddenly and he asked, "Why did the nurse call the lab's number and not my cell?" There was a pause, and when he heard Sara's giggle a wide smile of understanding broke across his face. "You remembered the lab's number but not my cell, didn't you?"

"Canthide – anyfingfrom – yousherlock," she said, then paused. "Wanted-tosurpriseyou."

"And a very pleasant surprise it is. You should do it again some time."

"Might."

The grin stayed on. "I look forward to it very much, but now you need to go to sleep."

"Goodnight – Gilbret," she said, her soft giggle once again filling the line.

"Good night, sweetheart, and sweet dreams. Remember your mother's coming in the morning and I'll see you in the afternoon, okay?"

"Kay."

After a slightly shy and quiet "I love you," on account of the nurse listening in he hung up, the wide smile still pulling at his lips. And that's how Catherine found him some long minutes later when she knocked and quietly opened his door, coming in unbidden, balancing a cup of coffee and a Danish of sorts in her hands. Quickly, he slipped his glasses back on and pulled the next file to review over the brochure he'd been reading before Sara's call. He didn't quite manage to erase the grin on his face.

"Slow night," he said as she gently kicked the door shut behind her.

She smiled and sat on the chair across from him, setting the cup and cake on a corner of his desk. "Why, you think you're missing all the action?"

"It wasn't a question."

"Oh." Frowning she gave her hair a flip over her shoulder. "So, you're missing it?"

"What?"

"The action. Being out in the field, rather than stuck here doing all the boring paperwork."

He removed his glasses and setting them down on top of his work took a moment to ponder her words. "No, actually, I'm not," he said, looking up and shrugging. "I've so much on my mind that I don't know if I could do the job well enough anymore."

Her smile turned melancholy. "Of course you could. You would." Her eyes averted to the desk and frowning she craned her head round to look at what he'd been reading. "What are these?" she asked, glancing toward him with puzzlement.

He looked down but didn't attempt to cover the top of the realtors' brochure sticking out from under the file or pretend he didn't know what she was referring to. He sighed. "The multi-levels are the reason Sara liked our house so much when we viewed it," he said with a small shrug. "And also that even though it's open plan each area has its own defined space and purpose."

"Right," she agreed uncertainly, drawing out the vowel, waiting for more.

His lips formed into a sad smile. "I'm thinking of putting the house on the market, Catherine."

Her look of bafflement intensified. "Why? Is it because of what happened there with McKay?"

"No," he said with disbelief; he hadn't thought of McKay ever since Reno. "It's because of the stairs and steps and multi-levels and all the other things Sara won't manage." Why did she have to bring McKay into the conversation and ruin his good mood? He sighed impatiently, suddenly wanting this conversation to be over. "Hodges was looking for you earlier."

Catherine registered a look of shock at his change of tack. "He didn't look hard enough," she replied defensively. "I was downstairs in the morgue with David."

Grissom nodded. "He's got the results you wanted for the Martin's case." He hoped his usual curt professional tone would be enough to tell Catherine that she'd overstayed her welcome. Without another word he picked up his glasses and pen and returned his attention to the case file in front of him.

"And?"

He glanced up. "I don't know. He didn't say."

"And you didn't ask?"

He arched his brow. "Evidently not."

Her face lit up with a smile, which wrong footed him completely. "Good," she said, "and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned McKay."

"It's all right," he said, his shoulder rising in contrition for his snappiness.

She nodded toward the documents in front of him. "I don't get why you should sell. You say Sara loves the house and the house is full of memories she doesn't remember yet, but will – in time. How can you even think of selling?"

"It's not wheelchair-friendly," he stated, matter-of-fact, "or anything friendly for that matter."

"Then make it."

"It's not as simple as that."

"Why not? It's got to be easier than selling – and cheaper too – especially in the current economic climate."

He shrugged. "I was hoping that selling the house would free up enough cash to buy a one-story house like Doc's, but smaller, and have it kitted out properly to give Sara some independence in it."

Catherine drew out a long breath. "I don't suppose you've discussed it with her, have you?"

A slow, slightly dejected shake of the head was his only reply.

"You don't know yet how much progress she is going to make in the future. You can't make this decision without speaking about it with her first."

"I'm trying to save her from more heartache, Catherine. She's got enough to content with at the moment." He sighed. "She's not going to walk again, but that's okay. It was always par for the course."

"Gil!"

He shrugged. "I'm just being realistic. She's still got no movement in her legs – sporadic sensations but not enough to be meaningful and if it's not happening by now it's probably not going to happen."

"Still," she insisted, "That's not a decision you can make on your own. It's not fair on Sara."

"I would tell her of course, in time."

Her eyes darkened. "What brought this on, huh? This…pessimism, it's not like you anymore. I thought you'd turned a corner."

His eyes averted downward and he sighed. "Today, I had a chat with Sara's doctor," he admitted quietly, looking up. "And I mentioned I wanted to take her home for a couple of hours and he pointed out to me how flawed the idea was and how inadequate the house is."

"So? You need to rethink things a little, that's all. It's still Sara's home. What about remodelling it?"

His hand lifting to his face he rubbed at his eyes and remained silent.

"You're tired," she said after a moment, "go home. I can cover things here."

"I'm fine," he retorted a little more shortly than he'd intended. He made eye contact and offered her a small apologetic smile. "Please, don't fuss."

Her mouth pursed to the side. "I won't, if you promise not to do anything rash and without consulting Sara first."

"Will you go and leave me to my work if I say I won't?"

She checked her watch and making a pout pushed to her feet. "I suppose I could go and check Hodges' results."

She made to leave then hesitated and watched him for a moment longer as if she had more to say. Smiling he lifted his hand by his side and gave her a small wave. Getting the hint, she returned his smile with a warm one of her own, then turned and left.

"Cath, you're forgetting your coffee," he called after her.

She popped her head back round the door. "It's for you," she said with a smile, a smile that widened teasingly as she added, "Greg made it as peace offering for stealing your thunder. The Danish is courtesy of Judy."

Grissom fought to hide his smile but failed. He should have known that Sara's impromptu call would be on everyone's lips by now. His eyes lowered to the Danish and he sighed, and when he glanced back up toward his door Catherine had disappeared. "Thanks!" he called loudly.

"You're welcome!" came her distant reply.

Without another thought and a smile on his face he gathered the realtors' papers and after a quick look at them tossed them in the trashcan. Maybe remodelling the house was possible after all, he mused as he returned to signing off on cases. He'd have to start looking into it seriously and see about spreading the cost.

The next few hours passed uneventfully, alternating between reviewing case files, updating staff evaluations and doing the obligatory lab rounds to make sure everything was running as it should. It was indeed a slow night, and everyone, except for Warrick and Mandy who had the night off, was in. Maybe they'd even leave on time for once.

He was putting the final touches to the budget report he had to present to Ecklie on Monday when his desk phone rang, and reaching for it mechanically he brought the receiver to his ear. "Grissom."

"Mr Grissom, sir, another call for you," Judy said. "Shall I put it through?"

Immediately straightening up in his chair he checked his watch, this time fearing the worst. It was 6.30 am. Had Sara had a nightmare? Could listening to the iPod have triggered another seizure? "Torrey Pines again?" he asked unable to disguise the fearful edge in his voice.

"No, sir. District Attorney's office."

He frowned. "At this hour?" The question was a rhetorical one and left unanswered. "Thanks, Judy." And then as he was connected, "Maddy, I was going to call you but at a more personable hour."

"I'm not waking you, am I?" she said dryly.

He sighed. "What do you think."

"I'm thinking we should meet for breakfast after shift's over. What time's that? Eight? I hear it's a slow night."

"I can't," he said, shifting in his seat. "I got somewhere to be at nine. I'm sure you can tell me everything there is to tell over the phone now."

"But that wouldn't be as much fun," she lamented. "Besides, as I told you yesterday there isn't much to tell yet."

"Come on, now. This is me."

"But," she said with a smile in her voice, "it would appear that our dear Matthew's been spending _a __lot __of_ time on the slot machines."

Grissom straightened, his ears pricking up with interest. "How much time?"

"A _considerable_ amount of time. An _unhealthy_ amount of time, even for a tourist."

"And knowing the odds here in Vegas," he thought out loud, "he's got to be out of pocket."

"He's got to," Maddy said in a mock-reflective tone.

"You think he's got a gambling problem?"

"Wouldn't want to speculate at this stage."

They were on the same page at last. "Would that be enough to soil his character?"

"One thing at a time, but it's a starting point."

Sighing he gave a nod into the phone. "Have you heard from your PI yet?"

She let out a warm chuckle. "Not everybody manages on as little sleep as you and I, Gil. You'll know when I know."

Wasn't that exactly what he'd replied to Sara when she'd asked about Maddy's idea? He gave his head a shake. "Did you speak to Sara?" he asked, his intonation rising in suspicion.

"Sara? Not since yesterday with you. Why? Should I have done?"

He gave his head another shake and rubbed his eyes. "No. Sorry."

"Listen, Gil, I just checked with your…what's-her-name…Judy and she says you're scheduled to have the night off tonight. Since you just blew me off…why don't I pick up some takeout and come round to your place? No doubt Carlos will have given me the run down on what he's found by then."

Grissom's mouth pursed to the side in mock-annoyance at Maddy's blatant underhand tactics. "Laura – Sara's mother – will be there."

"Good. The more the merrier. Besides she'll want to know, won't she?"

"All right," he said grudgingly at last. "Come round at eight. Leave the takeout, I'll cook."

"Wow," Maddy said with dripping sarcasm, "If I had known it worked I'd have tried it years ago."

"Tried what?"

"Why, coercion of course."

He laughed. "Should John be there too?"

There was a lengthy pause, and he smiled. "This is payback, isn't it?"

"Payback for what?" he asked innocently. "I'm just making up numbers."

"Numbers are the last of your concerns, Grissom, and you know it."

"Would I ever result to your sneaky ways?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry I dropped you in it with Sara yesterday. There, I've said it," she added, all trace of jokiness gone from her voice. "Now, can we leave John out just this once? We're kind of on a break from each other right now."

"I know you are," he said, his smile widening devilishly, "And that'll teach you to meddle."

"Point taken." There was a brief pause and then a teasing, "So are you?"

"As I said to Sara," he said, the playful twitch of his lips smug and satisfied, "You'll know when I know. I'll see you at eight, and don't forget to bring John."


	33. Chapter 33

An anticipatory smile spreading over his face he gave the door a soft knock before slotting the key card into the lock and letting himself in. He'd slept in and was running a little late but hopefully he would find Sara on her own. He'd left Laura at home with Hank and Matthew wasn't due to come until much later.

"Hey," he greeted quietly as he closed the door after him.

Sara didn't acknowledge his arrival. Sitting in her chair she was watching as though hypnotised the pictures flickering on the television screen in front of her. Immediately drawn in, he took a step closer and frowned, stopping dead in his tracks as a shot of himself in a dinner jacket and tie flashed on the screen. His frown deepened in bemusement, and then it struck him that the last time he'd worn his dinner jacket was for the Department's Christmas do six months previously. How had Sara got hold of this film when until then he hadn't even known of its existence?

A glass in one hand and the other casually thrown in his pants pocket he stood talking with Ecklie and the mayor, but it was clear by the way his eyes kept flicking to a point beyond the lab director's shoulder that his attention was on something else – or rather on someone else. God, she'd been mesmerising that night. Greg made a comment about 'boring old farts' in a hushed voiceover whisper that made Sara giggle as she watched the film. His eyes flicked to her but she still hadn't realised he was in the room.

Her warm laughter suddenly echoed out from the television, immediately taking him back to that moment and he refocused his eyes on the screen. The camera made a sudden sweeping move as it swiftly trailed the provenance of her laughter across the ballroom and then jerkily zoomed in on her and her dazzling smile. And, as it had that night when she'd warily stepped out of their bathroom and asked him a little shyly if he could do her dress up, the breath caught in his throat on seeing her.

She'd worn her hair pinned up in a pretty up-do with a few strands of loose curls left out and kept her makeup soft. Her dress was a simple, strappy, cut-above-the-knee deep blue number that accentuated her form perfectly but that she'd been wary of wearing. It was the first cocktail dress she'd owned, the first one she'd worn she'd reluctantly admitted to him a little later when he'd recovered enough from his shock to compliment her on it. A flute of orange juice in hand she stood laughing and chatting with Nick and Warrick.

He'd never seen anyone looking more stunning than she had that night, and the fact that she was all his and that no one knew had somehow made a previously dreaded function all the sweeter. Catching his eye she'd tilted her glass in his direction before slowly bringing it to her lips. He remembered rewarding her blatant teasing by a playful pout and almost getting caught by Ecklie for it. And now he almost wished he had.

The picture on the screen jerked about as Greg hurriedly weaved his way through the crowd to the group. "Watch out," Nick said in a chuckle with a nod at the camera, "here comes the next Tarantino."

"Get that thing out of my face," Warrick said, turning away and raising his hand palm up in front of the camera.

Sara turned her head toward the camera and smiled indulgently. "I thought there was a professional doing that," she said, looking straight at the camera. He couldn't help the tightening of his lips at the pang of sadness that suddenly clenched his heart seeing and hearing her like that caused.

"There is," Greg replied, "But I'm getting all the behind-the-scene shots and girl, Grissom can't take his eyes off you."

His eyes snapped back to Sara in her wheelchair, still totally riveted by what she was watching. She didn't seem upset, quite the contrary, the mixture of delight and enchantment on her face speaking volume. Sighing he covered the distance to her and leaning down kissed her softly on the cheek. Her smile widening she leaned her face in toward him but kept her eyes steadfast on the screen.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, pulling back.

"Donbemad," she immediately said, her face darkening slightly, "please, donbemad."

"I'm not mad," he said softly, and it was true. He was hurting and a little sad, but he wasn't mad. He frowned at the oversized remote on the half-table attached to the right armrest of the wheelchair but thought nothing of it. Reaching for it he stilled the frame, then let out a breath and pulled a chair from under the table nearby to sit on. "I just don't want you to be…" the rest of his words dying on his lips he shrugged but forced his lips into an tight smile.

"Mnot," she said, weakly lifting her hand toward his face.

He caught it with both his hands and held it softly. "You're not what?" he asked, already knowing she'd read him like an open book.

"Sad."

His smile stiffened. "Did Greg bring you this?"

She watched him uncertainly for a moment before nodding her head in reply. "Please, donbemad – atim. Snotis –fault. Askedim to."

"Did you remember the ball?" he asked with surprise.

She shook his head. "AskedGreg – toshowme – whatwaslike –before."

Sadness filled him again, but he smiled through it. "You lit up the room that night, Sara. I'd never seen you so radiant. No wonder Greg couldn't take his eyes off you."

She let out a soft giggle of delight. "Vseenfilm?"

"No, I haven't," he said, "I didn't even know it existed until now. But I was there, and I couldn't take my eyes off you either."

"Lookgood – insuit," she said.

He chuckled. "So I've heard," he winked. "We did manage to sneak in a dance on the balcony without anyone noticing though."

The corner of her mouth twitched up with a smile and she shook her head. "Gregsaw."

His mouth formed the perfect, "No," of disbelief. "He's got it on tape?"

A mischievous twinkle in her eye she nodded. "Didnknow – couldance."

"Oh, you can dance all right."

"Notme. You."

"Ah." A lump formed in his throat and he averted his eyes.

"Msorry," she said, and he looked up, "makinyousad."

"Oh, sweetheart," he said giving her hand a warm squeeze, "You're not making me feel sad at all. You fill me with happiness. Every day I'm with you is better than the last."

"Fast-forward."

He frowned. "You want to fast-forward to the future?"

"No, silly. Fastfowardfilm."

"You've watched this before?"

She gave a tentative nod. "Wasworried – youbemad."

"Oh, Sara," he said a little disparagingly. "You don't want to believe everything Greg tells you about me. I'm not that much of an ogre – to him or anyone else."

"Youneedbe – nicer – toim."

He made a face. "You heard what happened last night."

"Hear – everyfing," she said smiling.

His hand lifted to her face. "So I gather." He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. "Can you believe he called me a boring old fart? Old is a matter of perspective but…_boring_?" Sara's face softened at his teasing, and he winked. "I'll try to be a little nicer to him, I promise."

He smiled, and then reaching for the remote controller pressed 'Play' and then the fast-forward button until Sara exclaimed "Stop." He frowned and watched with surprise the scene on the balcony Greg had caught through open French doors and long drapes gently billowing in the night breeze. There was nothing explicit to suggest that he and Sara were a couple except maybe the comfortable way in which he held her to him; one hand in the small of her back, the other clutching her hand to him as they slowly danced to the tune of the live Jazz singer singing _Cheek __to __Cheek_ in the main ballroom. The camera was too far however to catch the look in their eyes as they stared at one another. That look told a very different story.

"Wait till I tell the others," Greg said to himself in a wondrous whisper as the camera zoomed in a little more on the pair, "Who knew Grissom could dance."

"I can't believe they still didn't figure us out after this," he said, turning toward her and smiling when he caught her watching him.

"Hiding – inplainsight," she said.

"Indeed." There was a moment of silence and Sara refocused on the images on the screen. He picked up her hand and distractedly playing with her fingers took a tentative breath. "I was wondering…"

"Stillav – thedress?" she asked, interrupting him mid-sentence. Turning toward him she nodded her head at the television screen. "Thebluedress. Stillav – it?"

"Sure," he said quietly, his heart tightening in his chest. "It's in your closet at home."

"Good."

"Why?" he asked softly.

She turned a mischievous smile on him. "Tsurprise." To his frown of confusion she added, "Yousee – intime."

"What are you plotting?" he asked with a suspicious purse of his lips.

Smiling she paused and lowering her eyes took a moment to compose herself. He felt her hand move inside his then pull out slightly, and a line creasing his brow he opened out his hand releasing it. He watched as she looked up and met his gaze, her expression one of calm determination.

"Close your eyes," she said, and after a moment of staring at her uncertainly he slowly did as bid.

Her hand slowly lifted out of his. The only sound in the room was the sweet voice of the Jazz singer singing the closing lines of the song and his mind took him back to that night again, to that cherished moment as they moved as one in each other's arms. His breath hitched, his lips pinching as he wondered what she was doing. Then he felt the softest touch of her fingers on his cheek and up toward his eyes, and for a second he stopped breathing. He opened his mouth and blew out a deep slow breath, tears rising in his eyes as she gently brushed over them.

When had she learned to control her hand like that? Had the remote been placed there because she was able to use it herself?

"We'll dance again," she said in a breathless whisper before he could find his voice and ask her about it. He swallowed and it took all his resolve not to let his emotion get the better of him. "Thisonly – thebeginning," she murmured, her hand dropping suddenly. "Thebeginning."

His eyes reopened and all the blinking in the world could not stop the slow warm tears now coursing down his face. He blew out another breath, trembling lips forming into a smile that couldn't be more loving and proud and admiring of her and her fortitude.

"I'm so proud of you," he said, pulling her to him and burying his face in her shoulder. "So very proud. Words can't begin to express what I'm feeling right now."

They remained a moment like so in each other's arms like the couple slowly dancing on the balcony until the angry ringing of a cell phone followed by a muttered curse from Greg broke the enchantment. He pulled back from her with a chuckle and turned toward the screen in time to see the camera being switched off.

"I remember now," he said, smiling as he used the controller to switch the television off and the back of his hand to wipe his eyes. "Greg got called in, as did Warrick and Nick. Pile-up on the I-15. Catherine was already minding the fort."

Sara frowned. "Not you?"

He gave her a soft shake of the head in reply. "I conveniently had the night off. As you did."

A slow smile of understanding spread over her face. "Howdid – nightend?"

"We took the party home," he simply said, failing to suppress the growing smile that lit up his face, "in separate cars. You kicked off your shoes, put some music on, and we continued where we'd left off."

"Wedanced?" she said with surprise, and then to his soft nod of the head asked, "Whatsong?"

He paused, the recollections so vivid in his head it could be happening now. "Close your eyes," he said and then keeping his eyes on her watching for her reaction he licked his lips before intoning in a quiet voice just for her, "'There's a saying old, says that love is blind'." A smile of pleasure spreading over her face Sara scrunched her eyes tighter shut. "'Still we're often told," he continued, closing his eyes too, "'Seek and ye shall find', so I'm going to seek-"

"A certain lad I've had in mind," she whispered in her halting voice and he reopened his eyes, smiling when once again he caught her watching him with tears in her eyes.

His shoulder lifted a little diffidently, his hand rising to her face and pushing away behind her ear a strand of hair. "I remember taking off one by one all the pins that held your hair up," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, and when she closed her eyes again he didn't stop. He knew then that however painful the memories were for him to recall they were joyful ones, ones he cherished and desperately wanted Sara to share and have as her own.

It was _their_ past – some of it happy, some of it less – but their past nonetheless. Suddenly it was important to him that she knew how much loved she'd been then, even during the years it took him to admit and accept that love, and how very much loved she still was now. And so he closed his eyes and spoke, telling her with words he didn't know he had in him how magical, how beautiful and precious the rest of that night had been.

When he finished and reopened his eyes he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears, but he refrained himself from wiping them off, knowing the tears she'd shed were happy ones. They stared at each other silently for a long moment before he remembered what he'd brought for her.

"I almost forgot," he said animatedly, "I brought you something."

"What?" she asked, giving him a wide smile.

He reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a badge which he held out to her.

She looked at the badge with a frown, and after a puzzled glance at it he flipped it over. "My baby," she whispered, her hand lifting toward the picture of Hank on the front.

"He does photograph well, doesn't he?" he said, his voice full of mirth. She glanced up. "I got a matching one."

"What for?"

"The dog therapy, remember? We're in!"

Sara's face lit up with excitement. "Whydidn – youbringim?"

He shrugged. "Because I'm selfish and wanted you all to myself."

"Gil," she said not believing him.

He sighed. "He's in the doghouse. I told him no more visits until he gets his act together."

Sara's face dropped. "Tooharsh –onim. Msurehes – doinisbest."

Grissom made an unconvinced humming sound. "We'll see."

"Bringim-tomorrow – forvisit." A mischievous smile formed on her lips. "Illspeak –toim." The right side of her face contorted in a strange winking motion and he laughed. "Finishcookingdinneryet?" she then asked.

"I'm not even going to ask how you already know about that," he said, his laughter intensifying as he shook his head with disbelief. "But to answer your question, I haven't even gone grocery shopping for it yet, let alone cooked it! You don't mind, do you? Only I got a call from Maddy this morning before Hank and I met with Ron. She should know more about your brother by then."

"Good news, huh?"

"I hope so. If we did find something we could use against him it would make for a stronger case, you know?" Faced with her questioning gaze he paused, and then after a slight hesitation decided to be totally honest and open with her. "It could be nothing," he said, "but Matthew may have a gambling problem. Maddy's investigator's gone to Baltimore to see if he could find out more."

He was just finishing telling her all he knew when he heard the noise of a key card in the lock. He snapped his head round toward the door just as it opened and Matthew stepped in. He was looking…tired, haggard even, the dark circles around his eyes very telling.

Grissom sprung to his feet, an automatic reaction he immediately regretted. "Matthew," he said, feigning friendliness, "Nice to see you again." He gave Sara's hand a comforting squeeze before releasing it, then faked a pleasant smile while extending his right hand at Matthew, which the latter gazed at suspiciously for a second before deciding to shake it. "So, how's Sin City treating you?"

* * *

><p>AN: The words Grissom intoned were the opening lyrics of _Someone __to __Watch __over __Me_ as sung by Ella Fitzgerald.


	34. Chapter 34

"How's Sin City treating you?" Grissom asked.

Bristling at his superior tone Sara raised her right arm, forcefully bumping her hand to his. "Gil, no," she exclaimed loudly causing both men to flinch at the vehemence and unexpectedness of her interjection.

Grissom's gaze snapped down to hers with surprise and she shook her head at him, trying to impart with one long pleading look that antagonism, accusations and personal attacks weren't the way she wanted to fight and win her battle with her brother. Her eyes averted to Matthew, and holding his stare she swallowed and formed words in her head.

"No more fighting," she said overly slowly, "No more arguing." She redirected her gaze onto Grissom and smiled, her eyes softening as glancing at Matthew he gave a nod of agreement.

She brought her eyes back up to her brother and sighed. He was watching her with a look akin to pity that she didn't like. He looked tired and troubled, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And maybe he was, she figured as unable to hold her gaze he lowered his eyes to the floor. Still, this was her chance to make him see who she really was, and she knew just how.

She formed her lips into a wobbly smile. "I'm happy here," she said calmly, choosing her words with care, words she knew she could enunciate in such a way as to be readily understood.

Matthew's eyes shot up, briefly meeting hers through a film of tears. Blinking he swallowed, the corner of his eyes quickly flicking toward Grissom self-consciously before looking away from the pair. He brushed his hand over his wrist, as though checking the time on his watch, and cleared his throat. "I got to go," he said in a low voice, glancing up briefly and making to leave. "I'll come back tomorrow. We'll talk then."

"No," Sara said before he could bolt, recognising her own self-preservation instincts in her brother, "Wait. Mattie, wait. I want to show you something first."

Matthew frowned then looked at Grissom, seeking confirmation of what she'd said.

"Sara wants you to stay," he relayed quietly, adding with a puzzled rise of his shoulders, "There's something she wants to show you."

Matthew gave a wry smile. "What have you two concocted now?"

"Nothing," Sara said, her hand moving to the oversized remote just within reach on the half-table and with a look of intense concentration she jabbed an uncoordinated finger on the 'Rewind' button.

The sudden whirring sound of the tape rewinding in the video player caused both men's heads to turn toward it. With a smile of realisation Grissom turned back and shaking his head in disbelief picked up the remote and switched the television back on. The tape rewound to the beginning of the film before stopping, and Grissom pressed 'Play'.

"What's this?" Matthew asked distrustfully as the first pictures of Greg's footage filled the screen.

"It's a film, a recording of a work do a colleague of ours made," Grissom replied, "Form last Christmas."

"Fast-forward this bit," Sara told him, and then to her brother while Grissom obliged, "I want you to see me – me with all my friends, my family here in Vegas."

Grissom advanced the tape until the moment they'd just watched when Greg joined Sara, Nick and Warrick, before letting it play again. Sara's carefree laughter once again echoed out of the television into the room.

"This is Nick," she said deliberately slowly after a moment spent in silence watching and listening to the banter between the four CSI's, "He's from Texas. The tall one's Warrick. Greg's the voice behind the camera. They're my closest friends." The words were flowing better now the more her confidence grew. She turned toward her brother. "And the girl in the blue dress is me. It's me, Sara. Sara Sidle. She is me, and I'm her, even if you can't see that anymore." She paused and blinked back the tears building up behind her eyelids. "But they can." Grissom turned to look at her, the tears shining in his eyes causing hers to spill. "And Grissom, he sees me as her too despite what's happened and how I am now."

Sara watched the back of Matthew's head dip in a nod but he didn't turn or acknowledge her words and she sighed. Grissom's hand wrapped around hers and he squeezed it imparting yet more strength. "Mattie," she continued quietly but emphatically when he still didn't speak, "I'm happy here. My life is here. It took me a long time to find happiness after…after what our mother did but I've found it here with all these people, my friends, my family." She paused to catch her breath. "Here I know that in time and with their help I can be that girl on the film again."

Matthew's shoulders rose as he took a deep fraught breath and his hand lifting to his mouth he nodded his head. Still he didn't turn. "I got to go," he choked out finally, chancing a quick look over his shoulder in her direction.

"Please, Mattie," she pleaded softly, "say something. Tell me you're going to drop the case. Please."

His head shook. "I can't. I'm sorry." He turned away from them toward the door, making a hasty exit out of the room, and feeling deflated Sara glanced at Grissom uncertainly.

"You did great," he said, dropping to his haunches in front of her. He gave her a soft smile and her hand another encouraging squeeze. "What you said…do you really believe that?"

Her face softened with a tender smile and she nodded. "I do. I've got to believe it."

His eyes lowering to her lap Grissom nodded his head. "You just…" he shrugged and blew out a long breath, "blow me away."

Sara pulled her hand out of his and lifted it to his cheek. "I've been working my ass off every day for the last two weeks just to be able to do that," she said, brushing her hand up and down his jawline. "You and Hank are great motivators."

He pulled a face at her. "Me and Hank, huh?"

A mischievous grin dancing on her lips she gave a slow nod of her head. She was about to say something more when the voice of the jazz singer filled the silence in the room and her eyes automatically drifted up to the television screen, her expression becoming wistful as she watched the couples dancing on the dance floor. "Okay," she conceded a little grudgingly, "Maybe you a little more than Hank. But don't tell him I said that." Giving her head a shake she refocused on him. "Shouldn't you be leaving soon?" she asked.

"You're trying to get rid of me?" he asked in a chuckle, his brow rising in surprise.

"I thought you had a dinner to cook," she replied, smiling innocently.

Frowning, he checked his watch. "I still got plenty of time. So, what do you want to do?"

She paused, mindful to appear too conspicuous if she pushed further. "You got the paper with you?"

His frown deepened. "Not today's, no. But I think yesterday's still around somewhere. Why?"

"Let's do the crossword puzzle for a little while."

"The New York Times crossword puzzle?" he exclaimed with disbelief.

"You think I'm not clever enough?" she challenged.

He laughed. "You're the Harvard graduate. You tell me!"

* * *

><p>Some one and a half hour later, Grissom rushed out of the Centre with a wide smile on his face that even the grey overcast weather could not dull. The crossword puzzle was still mostly unsolved but they'd had a good stab at it and a lot of laughs in the process. He felt happy, confident and proud, so very proud, Sara's recovery both physical and mental constantly exceeding his expectations. The way she'd faced her own fears and spoken to her brother just then was simply remarkable. Matthew had to be coming to the realisation that he was fighting a losing battle and would surely now be withdrawing his court case.<p>

He was crossing the lot to his car, making a mental list of the groceries he needed to buy for dinner, when he caught sight of a Honda Civic he recognised only too well parked up to his left. He slowed his pace, staring at it hesitantly for a few seconds before giving his head a shake and making for the Prius. He was about to get in when he paused and turned back to look at the Honda. He frowned on noticing the driver at the wheel, waiting. After another slight moment of hesitation he crossed over to the Civic and leaning down to look inside rasped his knuckles on the driver's side window.

The occupant jumped, his head snapping round toward him with surprise, then shifted on the seat and pressed the button to lower the window. "Jeez, Grissom," he said, "you got to stop doing that!"

The ghost of a smile formed on his lips. "Thought I'd let you know the coast was clear."

"How did you know?" Greg exclaimed, registering a look of utter disbelief.

Greg's reaction gave him pause. "Why, was it supposed to be a state secret?"

Greg gave his head a shake and he was left wondering if they were talking at cross-purposes. "I just thought I'd wait until you finished with Sara," Greg said reaching for his backpack on the passenger seat. His shoulder lifted and he smiled. "I noticed her car was here when I drove in."

Greg's thoughtfulness left Grissom at a loss for words. "Thank you," he said, finding his voice at last.

"Hang on," Greg said, "while I…" he let his words trail with a miming motion of winding the window up.

Grissom nodded then stood back, watching as the window closed and Greg stepped out of the car. Sara's "You need to be nicer to him," echoed in his head and he sighed. Greg checked his watch, his eyes searching the entrance to the lot before meeting his uncertainly. They stared at each other a little awkwardly for a moment before both opening their mouths and speaking at the same time.

"Listen, Griss, about last night," Greg began while Grissom simply thanked him again.

Greg paused, the look of surprise at his boss's words rendering him speechless.

Grissom's shoulder lifted and he looked down self-consciously. "I mean, huh, for all you're doing for Sara." He looked up, meeting the younger man's gaze dead on. "For giving her a copy of the film you made of the last Christmas Ball."

Greg's eyes lowered. "I thought you'd disapprove."

"I probably would have if I'd known about it but…" he blew out a breath and shrugged, "it was a special moment for us, one I'm grateful you caught on camera."

Greg looked up, the surprise undisguised on his face.

Grissom's shoulder lifted again. "You keep putting her first despite knowing that it'll get back to me eventually, and I appreciate that."

"You do?" Grissom gave him a slow nod and Greg's smile widened. "I never did make that behind-the-scenes montage I'd planned. There just wasn't enough material."

"Little did you know, huh?"

Greg laughed. "We weren't looking." He paused, his expression turning serious. "Sara keeps asking me to tell her about what she was like before and I thought showing her…" he shrugged the rest of his sentence off and Grissom nodded that he understood. "I got plenty more stuff…I mean, if you're okay with it."

"Just a little at a time, okay? I don't want her to get overwhelmed and for it to have a detrimental effect. But if she asks, then keep the memories coming." He smiled wistfully at the wonderful time he'd just had with her. "They're making her thrive, giving her confidence and a benchmark as to what to strive for. I'd feared it would bring her down, you know, I thought that seeing herself as she was before would cause her distress but it's having the opposite effect."

"Sara's mentally stronger than people give her credit for," Greg said in a quiet voice.

Grissom nodded, once again moved by Greg's words and maturity when dealing with Sara. His hand lifted to the young CSI's shoulder, patting it a little awkwardly. "You're being more of a brother to her than her real brother," he said in a solemn tone. "She's lucky to have you looking out for her."

Greg's eyes shone. "Always," he said, and swallowed before nodding his head and forcing a tight smile while Grissom's hand tightened its grip on his shoulder. "He can't win this, can he?"

"No, he can't," he replied confidently, "And I think he's beginning to realise it."

Greg's eyes averted downward and he nodded. "Grissom, can I ask you something?" he then asked, glancing up. Grissom paused and then gave a nod, a frown suddenly creasing his brow as Greg's face lit up with sudden mischief. "We're all wondering, you know, are we talking like…years?"

A rogue smile tugging at his lip Grissom shook his head with disbelief. "You'll just have to ask Sara; I'm sure she'll tell you."

Greg's expression mirrored the scepticism in his voice. "Yeah, when she remembers."

"Oh, she knows." His smile widened. "But me, I never kiss and tell."

"Fair enough," Greg said in a chuckle.

"Have a good evening, Greg," he said laughing as he turned away. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Good night, Grissom." There was a pause, and then, "Wait!"

Grissom stopped and turned enquiring eyes onto Greg. He sighed, not liking very much the mischievous twinkle in the younger man's eyes.

And just on cue Greg asked, "Does that mean I can tell her about the time you-"

"Don't push your luck, Greg," he said in a mild warning tone, "or you can look forward to a lot of not-so-pleasant work assignments, if you get my drift."

"That's what I thought."

Smiling broadly Greg beeped his car locked and after giving one last scan of the car lot turned on his heels. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder he headed toward the main entrance with a spring in his step. Grissom's head swivelled round as he followed with narrowed eyes toward where Greg had looked. Turning back he gave his head a shake and walked back to his car, promptly letting himself in and driving out of the Centre. He never noticed the car pulling in to the lot at the same moment or the look of sheer panic followed by intense relief that crossed the other driver's face.

* * *

><p>The man hurriedly scanned his eyes over the few faces in the lobby swiftly locating Greg at the reception desk and making his way over. "Greg," he called.<p>

Greg turned and smiled, acknowledging his arrival with a nod, and quickly put the brochure he'd been studying back on the stand. "Grissom's only just left," he said.

"I know, we drove past each other."

"He didn't make you out, did he?"

"I don't think so. He looked….a million miles away." He paused, flashing a perfunctory smile at Greg. "Thanks for stepping in at such short notice." Truth be told when Catherine had called saying she couldn't make it after all he'd felt uncomfortable at the thought of visiting Sara by himself, especially since he was doing it behind Grissom's back. His discomfort wasn't caused by the prospect of seeing her disabled but rather by their back story and somewhat fraught professional relationship. So when Catherine had diplomatically suggested Greg came instead of her he'd jumped at the chance.

"It's okay," Greg replied, "I don't mind." He indicated the visitors' log book on the counter. "You need to sign in and then we're good to go. Visiting hours end in fifteen minutes and they're very strict."

He picked up the pen and signed his name and who he was visiting below Greg. "You think Sara's really okay with me being here?" he asked when he finished.

Greg nodded. "Sure," he replied easily, "Catherine said she was looking forward to meeting you." He smiled. "Again."

He gave an unconvinced sigh. "It's just that Sara and I have never really seen eye to eye in the past and-"

"Well, now's the time to make amends. Not everyone gets to make a second first impression."

His brow lifted, Greg's words giving him pause. The latter indicated with his hand which way to go and they quickly made their way over to Sara's room. On his way he had a good look around the place, his mind taking him back to when he'd visited his mother during her brief stay after a mild stroke five years previously.

Stopping Greg glanced toward him. "We're there," he said, giving the door a soft knock before inserting the key card into the lock. "Hi Sara, it's me and Assistant Director Ecklie," he said, popping his head round the door, the wink he gave Sara on introducing him unseen. "Catherine couldn't make it. You decent?"

Ecklie didn't hear Sara's reply, just her soft giggle. Greg opened the door fully, letting him pass first and gingerly he stepped into the room, his eyes automatically focusing on the empty bed in front. Greg closed the door, moving behind him.

"Whatookyou – solong?" she said.

He turned, following the sound of her voice, registering a look of surprise on seeing her. He'd expected her speech to be severely impaired but actually it wasn't that bad and he certainly hadn't expected for her to be looking so well as she sat waiting with her hands on her lap in the wheelchair.

Greg leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "It's your fault," he defended brightly. "You told Catherine Grissom would be long gone by six. He spotted me waiting in the lot and came over for a chat. You haven't told him, have you?"

Sara's eyes flicked to him. "Andruin – surprise? No."

"I appreciate you asking me to come," Ecklie said, stepping forward and extending his hand at her. He watched as Sara paused and looked down at his hand and he regretted his automatic gesture. He was about to lower his hand when Sara brought her gaze back up, smiling as she slowly lifted her hand toward his. Smiling back he clasped it warmly and gave it a gentle shake.

"Cafrinesaid – twas – youridea," she said.

"It is," he said after a slight delay, before looking down uncomfortably.

"Veard – lotbout – you," she said.

He pulled a face. "Mostly bad, I'm sure."

"Mostly," she said with a strange twist of her lips, "But - notall."

Ecklie let out a warm laugh at her candour. "Listen Sara," he then said, glancing at Greg, "I know we haven't got much time, so I'll get to the point. I'm not entirely comfortable keeping Grissom in the dark about this."

"Skay. Tsurprise."

"Yes, but," he looked at Greg again, "how can I put this? Grissom doesn't like surprises."

Sara's face lit up with so much mischief that he couldn't repress the chuckle that escaped. "Helike – thisone," she said, holding his gaze.

"Alright," he said finally, "you know him best. So, do you have a date in mind?"

Sara paused, her face scrunching in thought. "Whatbout – August?"

"August?" Ecklie repeated, his eyes meeting Greg's with concern. "Isn't that a little soon, perhaps?"

Sara's head shook with determination. "August sixteenf. Sperfect."

"August sixteenth?" he repeated in a chuckle, reaching into his jacket inner breast pocket and taking out his personal organiser. "Well, that's precise."

"Grissom's birthday?" Greg exclaimed, the surprise undisguised in his tone.

Sara's face lit up with delight. "Tis, isnit?"

"You're sure that's a good idea?" Ecklie asked tentatively.

Her nod was emphatic. "Sperfect."

"Oh, I can't wait!" Greg said, rubbing his hands with glee.

Ecklie checked his diary. "Well, I can't see any reasons why we can't host this surprise birthday party stroke fundraising event on the sixteenth of August," he said, looking up, "But I will have to check with the highers-up. Make sure it doesn't clash with anything else." Sara was watching him intently and automatically he felt his mouth pull into a smile. There was no pity in his gesture, such sadness that such tragedy should have occurred at all. Such a nasty attack, he thought, and despite it all she hadn't lost any of her beauty, vibrancy and spirit.

A soft knock on the door put a stop to the silence that had settled between them and closing his personal organiser he turned in time to see a nurse stepping in with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm afraid it's time to go, gentlemen," she said, her eyes fleeting between him and Greg.

"It's okay," Ecklie said, "We had finished." He turned back to Sara and smiled warmly. "It's nice seeing you looking so well, Sara."

Her returning smile was soft and happy. "Snice – puttingface – toname," she said with a cheeky twinkle in her eye, and he couldn't help wondering what misconstrued stories she'd been told about him.


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: This chapter is too long, I know it is, but… Some chapters flow and write themselves, others don't. This one falls in the latter category. I hope it reads okay.

* * *

><p>When the doorbell rang signalling the arrival of his guests he was running terribly late, his risotto was only just reaching boiling point and he regretted what he considered now a rather rash dinner invitation. What had he been thinking, doing this without Sara? Sighing, he quickly wiped his hands on a dishcloth and tossing it on the counter hurried to the front door, unceremoniously letting the couple in before rushing back to the cooker.<p>

"Why, thank you Gil," Maddy said overdramatically, "You're not looking so bad yourself." She removed her coat and hung it over his on the stand while John quietly closed the door after them.

Frowning he gave his appearance – jeans and navy polo shirt, buttons undone – a cursory glance. "I'm sorry," he said absently picking up the wooden spoon and stirring the rice bubbling in the pan, "I'm running late, and I've got to watch this or it'll stick."

"And we wouldn't want that, would we?" Maddy said with a smile in her voice.

Impervious to her teasing he looked up toward the stairs and flashed his guests a stiff smile. "Make yourselves at home," he said, waving his spoon about, "it won't take long."

"The table looks lovely, Gil," Maddy enthused, her surprise evident. "And there was I thinking you'd have us eating out of paper plates and with plastic cutlery."

Grissom paused, his head turning toward Maddy and the table Laura had set, a smile forming at her acerbic tongue.

"Really, you needn't have gone to all this trouble for us," she added, trying to inject a little genuineness in her tone but failing to.

"You know very well I didn't." An apologetic shoulder lifting, he added a little more vegetable stock to his rice. "Laura laid the table. She'll be along in a minute. John," he went on without pausing for breath, "There's beer in the fridge. Maddy, what about you? Glass of wine?"

"Don't worry, I've brought my own," she said, waving a bottle of Bordeaux in his eye line, "Just in case. Corkscrew?"

He couldn't help his smile. "In the drawer to the left of the sink."

"John," she said, thrusting the bottle in her husband's hands, "Do the honours, will you?"

With a long-suffering sigh John grabbed the bottle and went in search of the corkscrew.

"This smells good," she said, joining his side and peering over his shoulder at the simmering pots. "What is it?"

"Pumpkin, mushroom and pea risotto," he recited, "With a generous helping of pine nuts. Healthy, balanced and full of nutrients." The cork on the wine bottle made a popping sound.

"You've made enough to feed a small army."

His lips twitching with a smile he gave her a sideways glance. "I have, haven't I?"

"Your wine, dear," John said, holding out a wine glass at Maddy and placing an open bottle of San Miguel next to the cooker for Grissom.

"So, how is it going with the mother-in-law?" she asked, taking the glass and casually bringing it to her lips.

"Maddy…" John chided in a mild tone, and then to Grissom as he took a swig of his beer, "Don't mind her, Gil, she's in one of her moods tonight."

The sarcasm and sous-entendre in John's voice raised a scoff. "I'm pleased to see Maddy passed on my invitation to you," he said. "This should make for a fun and relaxed evening."

John gave a chuckle. "Believe it or not, but we've called a truce."

Grissom turned a raised brow at Maddy, who lifting her shoulder said, "For the night."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, turning back to his food and missing the meaningful look that passed between the couple.

"Hello," Laura said a little hesitantly, and the three turned toward Laura standing away from them. She'd gotten changed and wore a nice cream blouse and navy skirt which reminded him of Sara on a court day, momentarily blindsiding him.

Quickly he plastered a smile and beckoned her over. "Laura, you've met John," he said.

"John, a pleasure to see you again," she said, stepping forward and extending a tentative hand which John shook warmly. Her eyes flicked to Maddy, her smile stiffening as she redirected her handshake. "Maddy, nice to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you."

"Glass of wine, Laura?" Grissom interjected before Maddy could utter the kind of cutting retort she was well renowned for. Casually, he reached for his beer on the counter and brought it to his lips, waggling his brow at Maddy while he took a long swig. This was going to be a long evening he could tell.

Some half-hour, another round of drinks and tedious small talk later Grissom brought the steaming risotto, salad and warm bread to the table and they finally sat down, silence briefly descending over the four as he served up and they began to eat. Despite his name never once passing anyone's lips Matthew clearly was the white elephant in the room.

"Sara's progress is simply remarkable, isn't it?" John said after a moment.

Grissom looked up from his plate, but John was addressing Laura who swiftly broke into an enthusiastic reply, and Grissom's gaze dropped back to his food. Automatically he brought more to his mouth, wishing now that this dinner was already over. Even though they'd never had the opportunity to have guests for dinner as a couple he missed Sara at his side, her laughter and ease with people, more than ever. At least Laura was there to deflect the attention, even if only momentarily. He was growing accustomed to having her around at the weekends. Self-sufficient and undemanding she broke the monotony of his time away from work and the Centre, and made missing Sara a little more bearable.

After a while the conversation lulled and the room fell silent, the only sound the quiet scraping of cutlery against plate. Chewing Grissom looked sideways, catching Maddy pushing food around on her plate. "You don't like it?"

"No, no, it's fine."

He studied her a moment longer. "If you're looking for the meat," he said, smiling when she gave him a narrowed look, "Don't bother. There isn't any."

She burst out in a loud, incredulous chuckle. "But why on earth would you do that to me, Gilbert?"

"Sara's a vegetarian," Laura provided in a quiet, conspiratory voice, adding when Maddy turned puzzled eyes onto her, "Did you think he cooked this for us?" She gave a warm laugh and shook her head. "He cooked this for her. We're having her leftovers."

"Hardly," Grissom defended unconvincingly.

Maddy redirected a mock-aggrieved face onto him, then met Laura's gaze again. "We've known each other what? Close to twenty years?" she asked, addressing Grissom, "And I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times he's actually cooked for me. Take-outs don't count."

"The words pot and kettle spring to mind," Grissom said, bringing another forkful of risotto to his mouth.

"You know full well I don't cook!"

"He's actually cooking most of Sara's meals," Laura said quietly, putting a stop to Maddy's little rant.

"That's nice, Gil," John said.

"She'll be back with us soon," Laura said, reading his longing, and then to Maddy with a bright smile, "Did Gil tell you what happened this afternoon when Matthew visited her?"

And so the conversation took off again, and once more he was grateful for Laura's presence there and her ability to casually steer the conversation onto the topic that had prompted this whole charade in the first place. To no avail, and he began to wonder why that was.

"This was divine, Gil," Maddy said when she'd eaten the last morsel, "you must give me the recipe."

"But you don't cook," John interjected with puzzlement, taking the words right out of Grissom's mouth.

"But you do," she deadpanned addressing John.

"Okay," Grissom said his impatience getting the better of him, "Enough with the small talk and pleasantries. The food's great, the company more so, I get it. What has your PI uncovered?"

Maddy and John exchanged a brief look across the table and he sighed, but before he could push further Laura stood up abruptly and began gathering plates and cutlery.

"Let's have dessert first, shall we?" she said flashing everyone a bright smile that didn't cover the sadness and foreboding in her eyes.

Grissom paused, then caught her eye and gave her a small smile. "Sure." He turned toward the others. "Laura made a trifle."

Maddy let out a hearty chuckle. "Let me guess. You made it for Sara?"

"No," Laura said, her smile widening pleasurably as she redirected her gaze onto Maddy, "But I shall be sure to save a little for her."

Once coffee was brewing and dessert served Laura met Grissom's eye and nodded her head at him, and he took that as indication that she was ready to hear the truth about her son. And all of a sudden he felt reluctant to find out. What skeletons was Matthew hiding in his closet? And how would they affect Laura and Sara?

Noticing his hesitation Laura took the initiative. "Gil said that…Matthew's character might not be as clean as he would have us believe," she said with a tentative smile. "Has your…investigator managed to find out more?"

Maddy caught Grissom's eye and he nodded that it was alright for her to answer frankly. "Well," she said, redirecting her gaze onto Laura, "we know he likes to spend a lot of time and money on the slot machines and it would seem that this pastime of his isn't simply confined to Vegas." She smiled softly. "Carlos went to Forest High, the school Matthew's been principal at for the last six years, and a good one too by all accounts. He spoke to the janitor there who thinks very highly of him professionally but Carlos detected a little…undercurrent. To cut a long story short, Matthew's had a lot of time off work in the last year or so." She reached for her wine glass and took a long gulp, her eyes eventually meeting and holding Laura's gaze. "He's got debts," she blurted out finally, "Bad ones and he's struggling to keep up his alimony repayments on top of everything he owes and considering he's earning top whack that must be something."

"Matthew's married?" Laura gasped with disbelief.

"Was married," Maddy said, "_Was_ being the operative word. It would appear that the divorce was rather acrimonious and the start of his downward spiral." She paused, her eyes flicking between Grissom and Laura hesitantly.

"What?" Grissom asked.

Maddy's eyes turned to John. "There is a daughter," John said when Maddy kept quiet.

Laura's hand shot to her mouth. "A daughter?"

John gave a soft nod. "She's thirteen and called…" He met Grissom's gaze and lifted a small apologetic shoulder. "Sarah."

Grissom's eyes narrowed as he struggled to comprehend. "Sara?" he repeated in an incredulous whisper.

"Sarah with an H at the end," John said with a tentative smile, as if that would make the pill any easier to swallow. "And it seems that he hasn't had any contact with her for quite some time."

The news felt like a punch in his stomach and he lifted his left hand to his face, wearily rubbing at his eyes. The ensuing silence became deafening and he wanted nothing more than for the three guests just to be gone and leave him alone.

"Oh, what a mess," Laura said in a breath, "What a terrible mess I made of everything."

"It's tough," Maddy said, "what happened, but you can't take the blame for it all. Both your children suffered in the same manner and Sara-"

Grissom's eyes snapped up just as Laura was snatching her hand back from under Maddy cutting the DA in her stride.

"You know?" Laura asked in a disbelieving whisper, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Maddy's eyes flicked to Grissom, pleading for help.

"I told her and John," he said, swallowing. "They needed to know. It will come out when it gets to courts."

Taking in a deep breath Laura gave a short nod of the head and wiped her eyes. "I worry about Sara and what dredging all this up is going to do to her and her confidence."

"Oh, she wouldn't have to be in court at all," Maddy said, sharing a look with John.

"That's right," he said, "this kind of case in conducted behind closed doors. If we need Sara to give a testimony it can be done on videotape. She wouldn't have to physically testify to anything."

Nodding Laura forced a smile and lapsed into silence. "So you think he's doing this for the money?" It wasn't a question as such, more a statement asserting to her bleak acceptance of her son's motives.

"What money?" Grissom said, anger creeping into his voice. "There is no money. Everything's going toward her care."

Maddy and John shared another look and Grissom's heart sank at the realisation that there was more. "His lawyers are filing a separate lawsuit," John said. "They're…suing the Department, Gil. It's nothing to do with the case against us, but as I understand it they're going to argue that Sara's attack wasn't random and happened as a direct consequence of her job in law enforcement. The suit is filed on her behalf obviously, but if Matthew gets her powers of attorney then…"

"He gets his hand on the money," Laura finished in a small voice.

Grissom's hand shot to his mouth. "This changes everything," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Gil," Maddy said, "I should have let you know earlier."

Grissom gave a wry smile. "This new suit will never see a court of law. The Department will settle. Of course it will. The adverse publicity in itself is enough for the mayor to want to pay for it out of his own pocket." He let out a long tired breath, his head shaking in defeat. "And maybe he's got a point. Maybe we should be going after the Department." He looked up, meeting John's eye dead on. "Should we have done that? Could he argue that because we haven't we're not looking out for Sara's best interests?"

"As far as we're concerned," John said, "it doesn't matter who sues the Department. Any money would be Sara's and most probably earmarked to pay for her care and future. What matters is that Matthew doesn't get her powers of attorney."

Grissom's eyes lowered to his coffee cup and he nodded, lapsing into silence as he wrapped his head around everything. Up to then he hadn't really understood the motivations behind Matthew's actions as regards Sara and never considered them to be selfless. He'd thought them motivated by hatred and spite towards their mother, and had believed there was no financial gain to be had. Now he wasn't so sure.

"You know all this would just disappear if you two got married, right?" Maddy said, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he looked up, strangely grateful for the lightness of the remark and change of tack.

"He'd probably have the marriage annulled before we could say 'I do'," he retorted in an amused scoff.

A look of shock filled Maddy's features. "So you've thought about it."

"A little," he admitted in a sigh, glancing at Laura out of the corner of his eye. She was staring back at him, a wistful look on her face, and he knew that their thoughts were in the same place, back in Reno, that fateful night before Sara showed the first signs of waking.

"Are you considering it?" Maddy asked, her surprise still obvious in her tone.

"Maddy," John chided in a mild warning tone.

"What?" she lamented. "Grissom's old enough to tell me to mind my own business and he hasn't yet so…"

"No," Grissom said, meeting Maddy's eye, "I'm not considering it. Matthew's the last reason why I – or Sara for that matter – would want – would _choose_ to get married. Simply because it's convenient or forced upon us by circumstances isn't what we're about." He stopped talking abruptly and dropped his gaze, surprised both at the openness and vehemence of his reply.

"I'm sorry, Gil," she said softly, reaching her hand to his on the table, "I didn't mean to pry."

"Yes, you did," he retorted, glancing up, a reluctant smile forming.

Her returning smile was soft and affectionate. "Come on, darling," she said, addressing John, and pushed to her feet, "I think it's our cue to leave."

Slightly subdued by the way the evening had ended, Grissom nodded and followed the couple up the steps to the door. John helped Maddy into her coat and he opened the door. Pausing at the threshold she turned and kissed him softly on the cheek before reaching into her coat pocket. Taking his hand she turned it over and he looked down as she placed a small folded square of paper in it. "This is Vanessa Sidle's contact details," she said when he met her eyes. "Carlos won't be making contact with her. What happens next is up to you and Sara."

Grissom nodded his thanks then closed the door behind Maddy and his hand around the piece of paper, already knowing he would call the number the very next day. There were too many unanswered whys he needed to fathom. He turned and watched Laura load the dishwasher. What would he say to her? What _could_ he say? She'd put on a brave face all evening but the shadows in her eyes belied a darker truth.

He was half-way down the stairs about to tell her to leave the clearing-up and that he'd do it in the morning when the house phone rang. Thinking it Catherine needing backup he shoved the paper in his jean's pocket and checking the time on the wall picked up the receiver, answering with a gruff, "Grissom."

"Hey," said a soft voice that immediately melted his weariness.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Hey. What's up?"

"Justcalling – saygoodnight."

His smile widened and he turned away from Laura. "Check I'd survived more like."

Her giggle warmed his heart. "You kay?" she inquired softly, and he understood then the real reason behind her call, that really she wanted to know what they had found out about her brother. He knew he should put her mind at rest but he couldn't tell her yet, not until he held all the cards.

"I'm good," he replied at last, faking lightness in his voice. "Tired, but good."

She sighed, but didn't press. "Kay."

"We'll talk when I come by tomorrow, all right?"

"Kay. Goodnight."

Her obvious disappointment gave him pause and reluctant to hang up he asked, "Are you going to make a habit of it?"

"What?"

He glanced toward Laura at the sink rinsing plates and brining the phone closer to his mouth asked, "Can I look forward to a goodnight call every evening?"

She stifled a yawn before replying in a solemn voice, "Yeah, youcan."

His heart swelled with love for her. "You're tired," he said, realising she'd probably stayed up to make the call, "We'll speak tomorrow. Good night love, sleep tight."

"Night."

He was about to hang up when he called, "Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"You want me to read to you a little?"

The sudden excitement in her response was all the encouragement he needed. He pushed off the counter and was heading to their bedroom when Hank let out a low whimper that stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned toward the forlorn dog whose pleading eyes were following his every move and sighed. He was about to put Sara off when Laura said, "You go. I don't mind taking him round the block. I could do with a little fresh air myself anyway."

Grateful he looked up, smiling his thanks. "Keep to the sidewalk please," he said, "it's getting late. I'll take him for a longer walk first thing tomorrow."

When he brought the phone back to his ear Sara and the nurse were deep in conversation. He hurried to the bedroom, closed the door and after adjusting the pillows made himself comfortable half-sitting half-lying on his side of the bed. The room was dark except for the soft light of the moon glowing through the open blinds and he wondered whether that same moon shone in her darkened room too.

"You're ready?" he asked when she'd finished with the nurse, trapping the phone in the crook his neck. His book of classic poems still lay on her bedside table and he picked it up and his reading glasses too. Leaning back he slipped them on and crossed his feet at the ankles, smiling as he opened the book at the bookmarked page from the last time she'd read from it. He didn't turn the light on; he didn't need to for he knew the words to this particular poem off by heart. His smile trembled, the recollections that suddenly flooded him so vivid that words momentarily left him.

"Gil, youstill - there?" she asked.

"I am," he said, picking up the phone and clearing his throat, "Sorry." He removed his glasses and closed his eyes. "'I shot an arrow into the air,'" he recited into the phone, quiet words catching. He blew out a long breath and hoped that the familiar, much loved and quoted poem might serve to unlock some memory of their time together, "'It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.'"

He paused and listened for a moment to the sound of her quiet breathing in the phone. And he could well imagine the nurse placing the phone near Sara's face on the pillow before turning the lights off and leaving, and Sara with her eyes closed as she listened. Smiling, he wondered what was going through her head at that moment.

"'I breathed a song into the air," he went on quietly, "It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song?'"

He stopped again, and when he heard nothing took in a deep breath, continuing in a soft whisper, "'Long, long afterwards, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.'"

When again she said nothing he knew she'd drifted off to sleep and he reopened his eyes. "Sleep tight, my beating heart," he said quietly. He was going to disconnect the call when thinking better of it he brought the phone back to his ear and listened to the sound of her breathing. He closed his eyes and it was almost as if she was lying next to him. And if he closed his eyes harder still he could feel her warm breath on his cheek.

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><p>AN: The poem is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's _The __Arrow __and __the __Song_. I hope the choice of poem wasn't too cliché; I guess anything by Shakespeare might have been more so.


	36. Chapter 36

"Gil!" The soft shake of his shoulder caused a mumble of discontent and he turned over, burying his head deeper in the pillow. "Gil!" Another shake, more forceful this time, followed. "Gil, it's Captain Brass on the phone for you."

The urgency in Laura's voice finally permeated his subconscious and he woke, sitting up with a start and rubbing his face. His first thoughts were of Sara, worry that something had happened to her immediately creeping into his consciousness. His right hand was still clutching the house phone and automatically he brought it to his ear but the line was dead. Slowly he came to the realisation that he had fallen asleep, fully dressed, atop the bed covers, lulled by the rhythmic sound of her breathing. Giving his head a shake he lifted confused eyes to Laura.

Smiling she held his cell out to him. "I wasn't sleeping," she said in an apologetic voice, and he couldn't help noticing in the dim light shining from the corridor that she was wearing a robe over her night clothes, "and the phone wouldn't stop ringing. When I checked the display Captain Brass's name was flashing so I picked up. He says it's important."

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth Grissom gave her a nod and a quiet, slightly disorientated "thank you," and sitting up straighter took the phone off her, his eyes flicking to the alarm clock on the bedside table. The blurry digits showed 12.38 am and he brought the phone to his ear with a sigh while Laura quietly left the room.

"Jim?" he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat.

"Sorry to wake you, Gil," Brass said, cutting short the pleasantries, "But I got a bit of a situation."

Knowing that Brass wouldn't be calling in the middle of the night without just cause Grissom swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed. "What is it?" he asked, as images of insects and decomposing bodies came to his mind.

"It's not what you're thinking," Brass said, before taking a deep breath and blurting out, "It's…Sara's brother. He's at Desert Palm's. A cruiser found him dazed and confused in a back alley off Fremont Street. He got beat up, Gil."

Grissom looked toward the bedroom door, making sure Laura wasn't still hovering nearby. "Badly?"

"Enough for my men to call for an ambulance."

Scratching the two-day growth on his right cheek Grissom let out a long breath and pushed to his feet, headed for the bathroom. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked, wincing as he flicked the light on before cradling the phone in the crook of his neck to unzip his jeans and avail himself of the facilities.

"Yeah," Brass replied. "The EMT's don't think it's as bad as it looks – a couple of broken ribs and a nasty gash to the head most likely when he fell to the ground. Well, that's what they told my guys anyway. He's in the ER now, waiting to be seen."

"Shit," Grissom muttered, "that's all we needed on top of everything else."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I thought you'd want to know."

Brass paused and Grissom pushed down the lever to flush the toilet. "CSI's on the scene?"

"Not yet. Shift's tapped out. But from what I gather there isn't much to work with."

"Make sure the scene stays secure anyway. There might be trace evidence, blood, anything. And get them to check out nearby CCTV too, we never know."

"Sure. There's something else you should know," Brass said hesitantly. "He'd…he'd been drinking."

"Drinking?" Grissom repeated with surprise as he did himself up, and sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Enough that you could smell the alcohol on his breath anyway."

He moved over to the sink to rinse his hands, catching sight of his dishevelled appearance in the mirror, and taking the phone off his shoulder ran his free hand through his hair, smoothing down the worst of the damage. "I really can't get a measure of him, Jim," he said, "I really can't."

"Do you want me to tell Laura?"

"No, I'll do it." He paused. "You're there now?"

"No, I'm at PD, but I told my guys to hang around."

"Okay. I'm on my way over," he said, stepping back into the bedroom. He was about to disconnect the call when he said, "Thanks for the heads-up, Jim. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. I'm just sorry I had to make the call."

Grissom gave a scoff. "You and me both."

* * *

><p>Grissom stopped at the entrance, wincing as though in pain himself at the sight of Matthew in the third bed over to his right. Not quite at death's door but certainly in bad shape, he was half-sitting half-lying against the pillow with his head hung to the side. His face was bruised and battered, his left eye swollen shut beyond recognition, the thick gauze on his brow damp with fresh blood. He got beaten up alright, Grissom thought, to a pulp. And for the first time since meeting Sara's brother Grissom glimpsed a broken, troubled and unhappy man underneath the battered exterior, who now that the hard shell had shattered was left exposed, vulnerable and…human.<p>

Knowing he shouldn't get involved professionally he'd left his kit in the car, a decision he now regretted. Matthew looked up suddenly, his one good eye widening slightly as it met Grissom's pained ones before looking down dejectedly, his ensuing shake of the head rewarded by an obvious stab of pain. Sighing at the shame he briefly saw in Matthew's gaze Grissom closed the distance, stopping at the foot of the bed. His hands hung by his sides, his fingers clenching and unclenching hesitantly.

"They called you," Matthew said in a low incredulous whisper. His small smile raised a wince and slowly, shakily, he brought the back of his hand to his cut lip. "How did they know to do that?"

"The officers who found you said you didn't want to report the attack," he said.

"What is it to you?" Matthew retorted quietly but there was no mistaking the hostile tone.

"Why not?" he went on softly, ignoring Matthew's animosity, "Don't you want us to catch whoever did this to you? I understand they stole some of your belongings." Getting no further reaction Grissom paused, opting for a different approach. "Do you want me to call someone?" he asked, casually shoving his hands in his pants pockets, "And let them know?"

Matthew's gaze snapped up and he stared at Grissom with surprise for a moment, and smiling the smile of someone realising he would always be a few steps behind gave him a small shake of the head in reply. "Despite what you see I'm not a drunk or to be pitied," he said.

"But you're a gambler."

Matthew's face contorted in a wry, defeated smile, his eyes averting. "We all have our crosses to bear."

"Indeed. But some are heavier than others, aren't they?" Grissom remarked without bitterness or malice.

"Why are you here?" Matthew asked quietly, glancing up with puzzlement.

Grissom lifted a shoulder. "I'm here because you're Sara's brother and she cares about you."

Matthew let out a scoff of disbelief. "I don't think so. And anyway, you've done your duty. You can go now; I don't need or want your help."

"Let me give you a ride back to your hotel. It's the least I can do."

Matthew's eyes lowered. "I'll get a cab, but thank you."

Unsure whether Matthew was being sarcastic or not Grissom simply gave a nod, lapsing into silence as Matthew turned his face away. Swaying on his feet he scanned his eyes around the room, taking in the three other beds and doctors and nurses milling around, and he could well imagine any trace evidence on Matthew's body would already have been obliterated. Still, he took a few steps closer the bed, his eyes focusing on the injuries on Matthew's face before slowly moving down his bandaged torso to his still bloodied hands and fingers. What were the chances that Matthew had caught a piece of his attackers?

"What happened?" he asked finally, looking up.

Matthew sighed, his eyes briefly meeting Grissom's before looking away. "Isn't it obvious?" he said. "I got mugged. They took my wallet, my watch, my cash, and bolted."

Grissom waited for Matthew to lift his gaze again to say, "Did you get a look at them?"

Matthew gave his head a small shake, wincing at the pain the movement caused. "It was dark, they came to me from behind."

"What were you doing there?" Grissom asked. There was no accusation in his tone, just genuine enquiry. "It's a little off the beaten track and a long way from the Monaco."

A grimace spread over Matthew's face. "I was taking in the sights and got lost."

Grissom held the younger man's unwavering gaze for a few seconds before blowing out a breath and nodding his head, accepting that it probably was as much as he'd get from Matthew. And if that's the way he wanted to play things, fine with him.

"I'd understand if you don't want me to do it, but I'd like for you to be processed."

"Processed?" Matthew repeated with disbelief.

"I mean, we would photograph your wounds and swab them for DNA and foreign blood. Maybe your attackers left a bit of themselves on you."

"Is that what Sara did too?" he asked.

Averting his eyes Grissom nodded his head. "Yes," he said, looking up, "And she's very good at it."

"I don't think so," Matthew said dismissingly in reply to Grissom's suggestion, and Grissom nodded again, knowing that insisting would be futile.

"What about your clothes?" he said using the same soft coaxing voice he normally used when dealing with victims of crimes. He indicated the bunched up shirt and jacket in the plastic bag at the foot of the bed with his hand. "Would you let me take a look at them? I could do it here if you'd prefer."

The two men stared at each other for a moment and relenting, Matthew finally gave Grissom a grudging nod of the head.

"Thank you," Grissom said.

He was about to take the bag and leave when Matthew said, "Did you mean what you said before?"

His eyes narrowed. "When?"

"When you said Sara cared about me. Did she tell you that?" Matthew's eyes wouldn't meet his; his voice was soft, almost pained, exposing his vulnerability, and Grissom realised then that his lawsuit wasn't just motivated by money from a potential settlement or by spite, but by feelings that ran much deeper than he could imagine.

Opting for honesty he shook his head. "No, she didn't. I'm sorry I shouldn't have spoken on her behalf."

"Why did you say it then?"

Grissom's shoulder lifted. "Because I believe it to be the truth," he said simply. "Because I know that if it was at all possible she'd be here herself now."

His words gave Matthew pause and he lowered his gaze.

"Shall I tell Sara you won't be coming this afternoon?"

Matthew's nod was imperceptible, beaten. A nurse came by carrying a trey with a suture kit which she placed on a table nearby. She pulled the partition curtain around the cubicle shut before reaching for a stool on wheels which she dragged over to sit on. Glancing over at Grissom she smiled, her eyes flicking down to the CSI ID badge hanging around his neck. "Sir," she said, "you're going to have to wait outside until I'm done to continue. But this is going to take some time."

He flashed a soft smile and a nod of understanding. "It's okay," he said, "we had finished." He picked up the bag of Matthew's clothes, about to go when he stopped and set the bag back down onto the bed. "I'm sorry about what happened," he said, reaching into his jacket pockets and transferring their contents into his pants pockets. "My guys are working the scene as we speak and I can assure you we'll do our very best to catch your attackers."

"I won't hold my breath," Matthew said, screwing his eyes shut with obvious pain as the nurse pulled the dressing off his forehead.

Matthew made the effort to reopen his eye and Grissom gave a stiff nod and then removed his navy sports jacket which he neatly placed at the foot of the bed before grabbing the bag of clothes. "For when they discharge you," he simply said, indicating the jacket with his head and leaving.

* * *

><p>Grissom strode into CSI and after logging in Matthew's clothes into evidence headed straight to his office. His visit to Matthew had left him perplexed and uneasy and Maddy's note was burning a hole in his pocket. He still couldn't get a true measure of Matthew and he hoped talking to Vanessa would shed a little light. It was still early though, too early to call the east coast, but he'd shied away from going home, knowing that Laura would most probably be up and CSI and his office had been the obvious place to retreat to.<p>

He was walking past the locker room door when Warrick called him and he stopped, doubling up on himself. "You finished processing the alley?" he asked with surprise, biting back the 'already' that almost escaped.

Warrick gave a nod. "There wasn't much to process. We did find his wallet though in a dumpster nearby. What CCTV footage we could get of the vicinity is with Archie."

"Can I take a look at the wallet before you print it?"

"Too late," Warrick said with a wince, "it's already with Mandy. I put a rush on it as per Catherine's instructions. The money was gone, but it looks like they left everything else."

"Anything caught your eye?"

Warrick stepped back into the locker room and pulled his jacket off the hanger, shrugging himself into it. "Nah. The usual stuff, you know? Driver's licence, a few photographs, receipts, that kind of stuff."

"Okay."

"Sorry, Griss, I got to head out," Warrick said, stepping past him.

"Thanks, Warrick. I'll catch you later."

Grissom paused, then turned back on himself headed toward the print lab. Mandy was hunched over her workstation studying a print on a piece of glass and silently he joined her side, peering over her shoulder at what she was doing.

"I thought you were off tonight," she told him without looking up.

He smiled. "I was missing you."

A smile of pleasure lit up Mandy's face. "If you're after the results on the wallet Warrick recovered it's only just come in." She shrugged and met his eyes, "It's my next job."

"It's okay," he said, glancing toward the evidence bag containing the wallet. "You mind if I take a look at it myself?"

"Be my guest."

Reaching into the open box on the shelf he took out a fresh pair of latex gloves and after slipping them on cut the seal off the evidence bag before carefully extracting the wallet which he placed on a trey. Slowly he examined the outside for any latent trace evidence and finding none proceeded to empty its content. The driver's licence and receipts he set aside, concentrating his attention instead on the two photographs hidden in its midst.

The first one was of Matthew hugging a young girl from behind he assumed to be Sarah. Vanessa stood slightly to the side, watching the pair and he wondered who had taken the picture. His eyes lingered for a moment on the young girl, a tall and lanky, smiley younger version of her mother. The second picture was much older, an early colour snapshot faded and torn in places. And yet there was no mistaking the two children on it, dressed in shorts and matching Star Wars T-shirts. A fond smile spread on his face as he stared at a laughing Sara on the left. It was a bright sunny day at the beach and he could only imagine the shot had been taken well before the unravelling of their childhood.

He blew out a breath, then glanced at Mandy from the corner of his eye, pausing hesitantly when he caught her staring. "I'm going to borrow these for a minute," he said, quickly averting his eyes and slipping the photographs in separate evidence bags. And before Mandy could object he lifted a finger at her and whispered, "I won't compromise them, I promise," before turning on his heels.

* * *

><p>Grissom's heart beat faster as he listened to the three long rings before the phone got picked up. "Hello," a young female voice said, and his eyes on the first photograph he'd scanned into the computer and printed Grissom swallowed.<p>

"Hi," he said cautiously, hoping his voice didn't betray his nervousness, "Could I speak to Vanessa please?"

"Mom?" the voice called, "It's for you!"

The phone got put down only to be picked up a few seconds later. "Hello?"

"Hi," Grissom said. "My name is Gil Grissom. I'm sorry to be calling so early on a Sunday morning but I…huh… I'm calling from Las Vegas. I'm Sara Sidle's…" The line got cut off abruptly and frowning, he paused and shook his head before cancelling the call and once again dialling the number Maddy had written down for him.

This time the phone got picked up on the first ring, Vanessa's curt, almost angry voice filling the silence. "Listen Mr…"

"Grissom. Gil Grissom," he repeated softly.

There was a lengthy pause and Grissom wondered whether she'd hung up on him again. He was about to speak when she asked, "How did you get this number?"

Vanessa's hostile tone caught him off guard. "I'm a crime scene investigator with the Police Department," he explained, hoping his credentials might mollify her a little, "and I really need to speak with you about Matthew."

"Matthew?" she repeated with surprise, and then, "I have nothing to say about him. I'm sorry but I can't help you."

"Wait!" he called, before she could hang up, "Please wait. I'm not calling on his behalf if that's what you're worried about." He blew out a breath, unsure how best to start explaining the situation. "His sister, Sara, she got…she was attacked a few weeks ago." His eyes locked on the smiling eight or nine-year-old Sara on the photograph and he closed them at the wave of searing pain that washed over him. "I'm sorry," he then said, "but I'm…I know this call comes out of the blue but I really need your help."

"I don't see how I can help you," she finally said, her voice calmer, softer as she broke the lengthy silence, "Matthew and I are divorced, and aren't in contact. Haven't been in close to two years."

"I know, but I was hoping you could fill me in on a few background details, that's all." He leaned back in his desk chair and rubbing the tiredness in his eyes went on to explain that Matthew was currently in Vegas and more importantly why.

When he finished his account including the fact that Matthew had been assaulted and was in hospital Vanessa sighed, lapsing into silence. "Matthew picked Sarah's name," she said out of the blue after a moment, "Said he liked it, and it is a pretty name so I went with it…and until last year when she called I didn't know the reason why."

"Who called?" he asked with puzzlement.

"Sara. Your Sara."

He straightened up in his chair, his hand moving to his mouth and wiping its corners. "Sara called you?"

"Yes. She wanted to know about Matthew too. When I said we were divorced she asked if I had a number for him. Explained that they'd lost touch and…"

"And did you?" he cut in earnestly. "Did you give her a number for him?"

"Yes. She was insistent. I gave her the number of the school he's principal at."

Could Sara have called Matthew then, and not remember it now? And if she had, how had the conversation gone? Could whatever had transpired between them then have prompted this sudden interest in her and her care?

"I warned her about him though," Vanessa said, drawing him out of his thought.

"How do you mean?"

"For the fourteen years Matthew and I were together I never saw it until it happened."

"I'm not following," Grissom said, his brow creasing in confusion. "You never saw what?"

"Matthew's dangerous, Mr Grissom. He's got a violent streak, which for a long time he kept well-hidden but which a couple of years ago he unleashed on Sarah and a fourteen year old boy."

"Did…did he hurt them?" he asked.

"No," she said in a small voice, and he could tell she was emotional just talking about it, "I stopped him just in time." She paused and cleared the constriction in her throat. "But he was like a mad man and if I hadn't put myself in the way he would have, and he knew it too."

"Did he hit you?"

She took a breath and didn't reply, which he took as affirmative. "The look in his eyes," she went on, "he hated himself for what he'd done, but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't control himself, and that scared him. He was very sorry afterward but the harm was already done."

"Do you know what triggered this…attack, if you don't mind my asking? Surely it's not just because Sarah was out with a boy."

She laughed. "Don't get me wrong; Sarah's a good girl, Mr Grissom. She's bright and popular but she picked the wrong boy to have a crush on. She told us she was going to one of her friend's house for the evening when in fact she was out with this…tearaway from Matthew's school. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we found out, and Matthew saw red. We went to find them. They weren't doing anything wrong; well, that we knew of but… Matthew lost it. He totally overreacted."

"And that was the first time it happened?"

"The first and only time," she said positively. "Things weren't too good between us by then anyway and I guess that was the last straw. I mean, Matthew had always been guarded and watchful, wound-up and very controlling. Everything had to be on his terms, always, but up to then he'd never been violent." She paused, maybe expecting a rejoinder from Grissom, but when none came she added, "That day, I saw a side of him that scared the hell out of me, so I took Sarah and we left."

Grissom nodded into the phone and rubbed his face. "And this is what you told Sara when she called," he stated cautiously.

"Pretty much, yeah. I was still very raw from the break-up, and she didn't seem all that surprised to tell you the truth. Said it fitted the profile. When I ask her what she meant by that she apologised for the trouble and hung up. I never heard from her again – until now."

"Matthew never spoke of his family?" he asked, wondering where his surprise came from since Sara herself had kept her past well hidden from everyone. "Never once mentioned Sara?"

"No, he never did. All I know is that both his parents are dead."

He was about to mention Laura when he bit his tongue, thinking it not his place or the right time to tell her. "Well, thank you Vanessa," he said instead, "I appreciate your candour."

"What about…Sara?" she said hesitantly. "Will…she be okay?"

Smiling through his pain he swallowed the tightness in his throat. "Well, we've got a long road ahead but she's…a force to be reckoned with. I just hope we can get Matthew to change his mind before we have to go to court."

"You know," she said musingly, "Matthew and I met in grad school. There was something about him that attracted me, his intensity, his drive…I don't know. He was very different from all the other boys; working all the hours God sent in a crappy restaurant just to make ends meet and pay for his studies. He was never very demonstrative with his affection but he was attentive. We were happy at first and it's only when Sarah came along and we got married that he began to change." She paused, and gave a little laugh. "I don't know what else to tell you. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"Oh, on the contrary, Vanessa," he said, "you've been of great help."

After hanging up his eyes dropped to the two photographs on the desk and he picked them up. The five smiling people staring back at him were the key to understanding Matthew and his motivations for the lawsuit, he knew it.


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: Thank you to everybody for their continued support with the story; I sorely need it at the moment. RL is busy enough and now Christmas is only just around the corner. If you're reading and hopefully enjoying please consider leaving a comment; I'd appreciate it.

* * *

><p>To say she'd been waiting would be an understatement and her heart beat faster when she heard the key card unlock the door. There was a pause and some hushed talking Sara didn't make out and her heart sank as she thought it wasn't him, but most probably the nurse once again coming to check on her. Sara watched with disappointment as the door finally opened, a wan smile forming as Grissom popped his head round it.<p>

"Hey," he said softly, hiding his surprise and sadness at seeing her in bed behind a soft and enquiring mile. "I came as soon as I could. Your mother said you weren't feeling too well, but…" his words died in a sigh, his eyes flicking to his feet hesitantly.

The exhaustion she saw in his face pulled at her heart and unwilling to add to his worries she decided to play the situation down. "It's nothing really," she said with as much cheer as she could muster. Weakly she lifted her head off the pillow so she could see him better and gave him what she hoped was a brighter and convincing smile.

His smile vanished as his look of sadness intensified and she knew she hadn't fooled him one little bit. Pausing he turned his head toward the corridor. The small impatient yelps that ensued made Sara's ears prick up and more than explained his reticence to come in. A small light returned in her eyes for the first time that day.

"Hank," she called as loud and clear as she could before Grissom could change his mind and take the dog back to the car.

Hank gave a loud bark leaving Grissom with no alternative than to open the door fully. Straining against his short lead as he eagerly pushed past, Hank let out a series of small happy yelps at seeing Sara, but with a small tug of the lead Grissom reeled his enthusiasm back in. "Remember what we said," he told the dog in a stern whisper. Tail wagging like mad Hank obediently dropped down to his haunches by Grissom's feet.

"I'm so glad you brought him," she said in a small shaky voice, feeling better already for their presence. Grissom's wince however told her that he wished he hadn't.

Sara had woken up ill and unwell, too weak for the staff to want to move her or even attempt to dress her. Her coordination was poor and feeding had proven almost impossible, further compounding her light-headedness and confusion. Not that she felt hungry at all. She simply couldn't explain her turn for the worse after she'd felt so good the previous day and had such a good night sleep. The doctor had been called; her temperature was a little high and fearing the beginning of an infection of sorts he'd asked for a full battery of tests, confining her to bed until further notice.

Crushing disappointment had followed as she'd thought that they wouldn't be able to go to the pool or do any of the things they did at the Centre that brought her so much happiness on a daily basis. It was the first time since her recovery truly began – discounting the seizure, which although terrifying in itself hadn't made Sara feel unwell – that her spirits had taken a dive, the dark thoughts descending and talking hold making her feel low and depressed about herself and her prospects.

And instead of Grissom turning up as she'd expected her mother had, explaining that he had been called into work during the night. Laura had been cagey about the details, making a show of straightening the bed covers and never quite meeting Sara's eye as she talked, and Sara knew there was more to it than what her mother was letting on.

She'd studied her mother carefully, noticing the dark shadows around her eyes betraying her own problems and she couldn't help wondering whether Laura's subdued mood was to do with the meal and what John and Maddy's investigator had uncovered about Matthew. When asked point-blank about it Laura forced a smile, assuring with fake-cheeriness that everything was okay, and would she like her to read to her for a little while? And without waiting for a reply she'd sat down on the chair by the bed, picked up Mark Twain's _The __adventures __of __Tom __Sawyer_ and began to read. Sara wasn't interested.

"Where is Grissom?" she asked again, interrupting Laura before she could finish the opening paragraph.

Laura paused and looked up. "I don't know," she said in a sigh, and shrugged apologetically. "I couldn't get a hold of him. I've called his cell and CSI and left messages with both. I didn't say what the matter was though; I didn't want to worry him. I'm sure he'll be here as soon as he can."

"He didn't pick up his phone?"

Laura gave a small shake of the head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't know any more than that."

Laura was being economical with the truth; Sara knew that for certain, what she glimpsed in her mother's eyes only serving to confirm her suspicions that what was keeping Grissom away related to her brother. Hopefully Grissom would be more upfront with the truth, but if it was good news wouldn't Laura have wanted to tell her herself? Laura took a breath and began reading again, and Sara spent the next hour worrying before finally dozing off to the sound of her mother's reading.

Grissom hid the growing worry in his eyes behind a bigger smile while Hank's tail tapped a merry tune against the carpet. "I promised, didn't I?" he replied, cutting Sara's musings short, as he unclipped the dog's leash.

Smiling she lifted her left hand off the bed, waving it weakly toward Hank, calling him to her. His tail beat faster in response but instead of rushing to her as she expected he turned toward Grissom, eagerly waiting for his command.

Sara frowned. "This isn't my dog," she said. "What have you done with my Hank?"

Grissom gave a chuckle. "It's him alright," he said proudly, his voice betraying his pleasure at Hank's performance, "Watch." He paused, turning to address the boxer. "Hank, say hello to Sara."

Acknowledging his master's command with a joyful bark Hank stood up and trotted to the edge of the bed before sitting down on his hind legs. Sara could swear he was grinning broadly as he raised his right paw in the air toward her in greeting.

The matching grin on her face spoke volume, and raising eyes wide with incredulity at Grissom she tried stretching her left arm out towards Hank's paw through the bedrail but sadly could not make contact. She stared at Hank, willing her arm to respond and move closer, her smile wobbling when it didn't.

Grissom was immediately by her side. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, "we should have gone to your stronger side. There," he added softly, lifting the bedrail before lowering it all the way, "let me help you." Slowly he raised her by the shoulders and gently pulled her arm and hand to Hank until her fingertips met his still outstretched paw.

"Hello, Hank," Sara said, blinking back the tears shining in her eyes.

"Good boy," he whispered proudly as he lowered her back to the pillow but sadly too soon as Hank let out another loud bark, and dropping all pretence at good behaviour lowered his paw to the ground before standing up on his hind legs and putting both front paws on the bed. Stretching forward he began a vicious licking of Sara's hand, causing an unexpected giggle of delight.

Grissom let out a mock-aggrieved sigh. "He's…getting there," he said, redirecting a fond smile onto Sara, "Slowly."

"Look inside that drawer there," she said with sudden excitement.

Grissom moved to the cabinet nearest the bed and opened the drawer, his frown dissipating when he discovered her small stash of chocolate. "What's all this?" he exclaimed with disbelief, taking out an open bar of Hershey's chocolate. Hank enthusiastically jumped down from the bed to join Grissom.

"Treats," Sara said simply, a grin breaking at the narrowed look he threw her.

He closed the drawer, and returning to the bed with Hank on his heels broke off a piece of the chocolate. "I'm not sure it's safe," he said. "Who gave it you?"

"A friend?" Sara replied evasively. He pursed his mouth at her and she shrugged. "It's perfectly safe. I just put it under my tongue and it melts in my mouth. It's the perfect consistency."

"And your favourite pick up," he remarked knowingly, "Not many people know that." Winking he slipped the square of chocolate into his mouth before breaking another one and bringing it to her lips. His head toing and froing between his two masters Hank let out a most aggrieved whimper.

"Not for me," she said, her eyes dropping to Hank meaningfully. His ears twitching Hank turned toward Grissom pleadingly.

"Chocolate's not good for you," Grissom said, pulling a face as he reached inside his coat pocket. "You can have one of these instead."

Sara giggled as she watched Hank immediately drop down on his behind and gobble the treat off Grissom's hand before lying down on the carpet.

"Thank you," she said, her emotion getting the better of her despite herself, "for bringing him. I needed both of you here today."

Smiling he gave her a soft nod. "Where is Laura?" he asked.

"She stayed all morning and read to me. Then Jim came and when it was time to…" Her words trailed off and she sighed, "They left."

His gaze darkened and he nodded and she could see how sorry he was that he hadn't been there. "What happened?" he asked. "Did you…have a bad night?" His voice was a mere whisper and she knew what he was thinking; that somehow his reading to her the night before had caused her to have a nightmare. He picked up her right hand and brought it to his face, placing a kiss to her palm. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, soft eyes pleading with her for the truth.

Sara shook her head. "No," she said quickly, "nothing like that." She smiled. "You didn't do this. The doctor thinks I've picked up an infection, probably at the pool, but they don't know yet. They're worried because of the…" The word 'splenectomy' eluded her and frowning she sighed.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," he said, reaching his other hand to stroke her cheek. He was about to say more when he stopped himself.

"It's okay," she said, "It couldn't be helped." She studied him for a moment, the shadows and worry in his eyes, the exhaustion on his face and she hoped that he would be honest with her and tell her what her mother had kept back. "Tell me," she said decisively.

A slow smile of understanding spreading he gave a nod. "It's…Matthew," he said at last, biting the bottom corner of his lip. "The callout last night, that was about him. He was robbed and beaten."

"Robbed?" she repeated with disbelief. Of all the things she'd imagined… She sighed. "Is he okay?"

He nodded. "He'll be fine, but his pride took a blow. Needless to say he won't be coming to visit today."

"Did…did he call you?"

"No," he answered with a twitch of his lip, "I'm the last person he wanted to see. He got picked up by PD." Grissom paused and stared at her for a long time, visibly debating with himself how much to share. "Let's play a game," he then said and Sara's heart sank, "let's do a little detective work together and see whether your skills are as sharp as ever."

Thinking he meant a game of Clue Sara gave a dispirited sigh and barely hid her surprise and excitement when he took an envelope out of his jacket inner pocket, removing several photographs from it. Two he put face down on her lap, keeping the third one in his hand and studying it.

"What is it?" she asked, thinking he needed a little prompting.

Silently Grissom held out the picture to her and she looked at it with puzzlement at first and then more intently as she realised that it was a printout from a surveillance camera. The picture taken from overhead was a grainy black and white enlargement of two men frog-marching her brother out of a door into a darkened alley. The time stamp showed 23:46, the date was the previous day.

Sara's eyes shot up, meeting Grissom watchful ones. "You think these are the men that did it?" she asked. To his soft nod of the head she wondered, "This is the back entrance to a club, right? Lap dancing maybe?" She paused, her eyes dropping back to the photo. "Did you ask him about it?"

"No," Grissom replied quietly. "He said he didn't know his attackers and at that point I had no reasons to doubt him. Besides we have nothing to tie these men to the attack. They knew where to go and how to do it so as to leave no trace."

Professionals, she figured. Why would Matthew lie? Why protect these men? What did he have to hide? And why get beaten up over it, rather than simply removed from the club? "He owes money," Sara realised suddenly. Grissom gave her another silent nod and she refocused her attention on the picture. Her brain was working overtime, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzles Grissom had brought her and suddenly it all clicked together. "He's got a gambling problem," she said in a gasp, remembering her brother constantly referring to Las Vegas as Sin City. "Debts?"

His smile was as long and loving as it was proud that she had worked it out. "It would appear so, and not just here but back home too." His eyes dropped back to the picture and Sara took a moment to study him.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, wondering whether he was carrying out his own competency tests before the real ones that were to take place the next day.

"I need your help." He looked up and smiled and this time she saw longing in his eyes, in what was left unsaid. He missed her.

"No, you don't," she challenged amicably, "you figured all of this out already."

"Not everything, no," he said softly. "This is only the start; I need you to work out the rest for me. It's in there somewhere," he said, giving her temple a gentle tap, "we just need to unlock it."

"I don't understand."

"Trust me," he said.

Sara stared at him for a long time before giving him a nod. His eyes lowered to the other two photographs on the bed and after a moment of hesitation he picked them up and turned them over. It's funny how the mind works, she thought as her eye immediately focused on the picture on the left. She remembered the day it was taken so very clearly. Her mouth curled downward in a fond smile at the recollection of a happy day at the beach, making sandcastles. Her father had just bought her mother a Kodak camera, a fully automatic one that took colour pictures. It was before he lost his job and everything began to fall apart. Had Laura seen this?

"Warrick recovered Matthew's wallet in the alley and these were in it," he said and paused and Sara could feel his eyes on her as he watched for a reaction.

"I loved that T-shirt," she said musingly, eyes steadfast on the photo. "I loved it so much I wore it until it got so small it stopped at my belly button." Her face lit up suddenly. "Everything he had, I had to have one of the same. He got me interested in science. Everything he did, I wanted to do. I followed him like his shadow, and he let me. He was patient, gentle and protective." The last word died on her lips and she lifted shiny eyes to him.

He smiled encouragingly. "What about the other picture?"

Sara's eyes dropped to the picture he'd picked up and was holding up for her. "He's got a family?" she said with surprise, looking up.

"They're split up," he said, nodding, and shrugged. The way he was watching her gave her pause and then when he uttered a very quiet, tentative, "His daughter's name is… Sarah," she understood why.

"Sara?" she repeated shakily, her eyes averting back to the picture, "like me?"

He stroked the back of his hand to her face. "Well, with an H at the end."

Her eyes filled and worried he'd see she was upset she kept them fixed to the smiley teenager on the photo. "Does my mother know?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "That's what I couldn't tell you over the phone last night. And I asked her not to tell you, so don't be mad at her. Be mad at me."

"I'm not mad," she said, looking up.

His thumb brushed under her right eye. "Matthew's ex-wife's name is Vanessa. I called her this morning and-"

"Vanessa?"

"Yes," he replied with a frown. "Why? Do you know her?"

Sara's eyes lowered to the picture. "That's the name of the woman I spoke to," she said in a gasp, then looked up again seeking confirmation. "She's the one who warned me against him, told me he was dangerous."

"Yes," he said, an unexpected smile spreading across his face at her recollection, "you called her last year. You were looking for Matthew, but by then he had moved out."

She frowned. "Did I call him?" she asked with disbelief.

"I don't know," he said, "that's what I need you to remember. But why else would you have called but to speak with him?"

"But what about?" she exclaimed heatedly. "He never once tried to make contact with me."

"Not that you remember," he said cautiously. "Perhaps he did and you were returning the call."

"But I'd have had his number."

"True," he conceded in a sigh.

Her eyes averted as she thought about it. "Do you think I'd have called him?"

He shrugged. "Your mother made contact with you; you had an address and number for her that you never used. Maybe you decided to get in touch with Matthew instead, and maybe that's why he's filing this suit now."

"I don't know," she said despondently, her memory loss making her feel frustrated and inadequate. "I don't remember. But I can't imagine that I would have called him, but if I did it wouldn't have been amicable." Her breathing was fast and ragged from her outburst and she took a moment to catch her breath and reflect on what it all meant.

"It's okay," he said after a moment, his voice soft and appeasing, and began putting the pictures back in the envelope. "It was worth a shot."

His remark was said innocently enough but the twinkle in his eye betrayed ulterior motives. He'd already worked it out, she realised suddenly, and now he was waiting for her to do the same. And with his guidance he thought she had the means to do it. He had given her all the pieces and he knew it was only a matter of time before she put them all together. Had he used the same methods when she'd been his student and later his CSI? Had they always shared this symbiotic ease and understanding when working alongside each other? Did they share it on an intimate level too?

"I know why you're doing this," she said, feeling an overwhelming rush of love toward him as she realised that by putting everything in her hands he was giving her his trust and some control over her future. "Thank you."

Suddenly she felt drained and spent, but very content and reinvigorated all the same, her mind awash with questions she had the answers to - somewhere. She let her head and shoulders slump back against the pillow, her eyes drifting shut. She felt him move and his fingers brush her skin, as he pushed a little hair away from her face. The mattress dipped and leaning over he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Don't go," she whispered, her eyes reopening a crack.

"I won't," he said, his lips on her skin, and then pulled back. He stared at her and smiled, and shifting on the bed until he was perched on the edge laid his head next to hers on the pillow.

Sara could not feel any more loved than she felt at that very moment as she let the warm blanket of sleep envelop her. Grissom took her hand in his, clasping it tight over her chest and snuggled up to her as much as he could in his current position. He couldn't have been comfortable, she thought, and yet she didn't dare move or ask him to lest she interrupted the moment.

"Sleep tight, my beating heart," she said in an inaudible breath, echoing words that meant so much to her, the only words of his she remembered and could still hear from when he'd thought her gone.


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: This is going to be the last update before we're off to France for Christmas, so let me wish you all a Merry Christmas if you celebrate, or a Happy Holiday if you don't. Ah, et pour les français ou francophones qui lisent l'histoire un très Joyeux Noël!

Take good care, et à bientôt, Sylvie.

* * *

><p>It was another week before Matthew showed his face, fading bruises and stitched-up forehead and all. A urinary tract infection had kept Sara in bed but with plenty of fluids and the right medication she soon began to feel better. Her speech therapy had carried on as normal, and by Wednesday she'd been able to resume the rest of her therapies – well, except for going to the pool of course, which had been a disappointment. More importantly though the independent cognitive tests ordered by the courts had gone well – or so they told her – Dr Williamson even putting together a video of her interacting with her friends.<p>

And now she was back in her chair, hands clasped on her lap waiting for her brother, with Grissom at her side, engrossed in his newspaper. "How's my speech?" she asked for the million's time.

Every day this week she'd worked doubly hard at improving the fluency in her speech pattern so that when Matthew came she'd be prepared. Fearing he'd use his lack of understanding as an excuse not to listen, she'd thought carefully about what she'd tell him, practising words and phrases she'd want to use out loud any chance she could.

Looking up from his newspaper Grissom fixed her with a mock-annoyed stare and she gave him a self-conscious shrug. "Sara, honey," he said with a soft, indulgent smile, "your speech is fine. Just…trust in yourself."

She formed her lips into a small, unconvinced smile, her eyes drifting down to the patch of sunlight on the carpet and the still form dozing in its warmth. Hank's right ear twitched up as though flicking an invisible fly and her smile widened pleasurably.

"Just speak slowly," he went on when she looked up, folding his newspaper and laying it neatly on the table, "as you've been practising, and remember to split up your sentences into manageable chunks of three or four words." Her smile clouded as he spoke and she once again listened intently to words she'd continuously had repeated by him and the therapist, building up her confidence. "He'll understand – don't you worry about that." He offered her a warm, confident smile. "I have every confidence that you can do it, but if you falter I'll be there."

He stopped talking and she gave him a tentative nod. "No," she said, her smile returning, "I want to do this myself. I _need_ to do this myself, for both our sakes."

The sudden knock made them jump, the tell-tale sound of the key card in the lock causing her head to snap toward the door and her heartbeat to quicken. Doubts set in again. What if she couldn't do it? What if she couldn't get through to him and make him see that what he was doing wasn't in either one's best interests?

Hank's ears pricked up, his whole body tensing as he too whipped his head toward the door, watching, guarding. A sound, a low guttural rumbling that came from deep within him and that Sara had never heard him use preceded his standing-up, surprising her. She turned questioning eyes toward Grissom who a sly smile to his lips raised his shoulder at her. Hank's protective growl intensified as the door finally opened and Matthew stepped inside the room.

Grissom shot up to his feet, calling to Hank to stop and come near before the latter could pounce. Hank stopped his verbal protest at the intrusion but stayed put, standing his ground in front of the enemy. Matthew paused at the open door, recoiling slightly as his eyes lowered to Hank hesitantly, fearfully even.

"Hank, no!" Sara said in a soft but commanding voice. Hank's head whipped round toward her. "This is Matthew, my brother."

Hank flicked his stare back at Matthew, watching him appraisingly for a moment, and then back at Sara as if checking with her that she was sure. Smiling brightly, she lifted her hand and tapped her lap, calling her to him.

"Good boy," she said when he eventually, reluctantly, sauntered his way over to her. Smiling as he laid his snout on her lap she moved her hand over it, giving it a gentle stroke. Her voice was soft, the same praising tone she'd used if talking to a child. "Good dog."

Hearing the door close she snapped up her gaze, her smile becoming shy when she saw her brother hover uncertainly. "This is Hank," she told him, "my dog. He's a good dog. He didn't mean any harm."

"He's just a little protective," Grissom said, "with everything that's happened recently…" he let his words trail off with a sigh.

Unease filled Matthew's face and then he was looking at her carefully, studiously even, and she thought that any moment now he would just turn around and make a run for it.

"Hank needs to pee," Sara said, holding her brother's gaze.

"He does?" Grissom said his voice rising in surprise.

Sara redirected such an intent and meaningful gaze onto him that his face softened with a knowing smile. "You sure?" his eyes asked, and grateful that he wasn't voicing his concerns out loud she gave him a nod. "So he does," he said over brightly for Matthew's benefit, as he reached for his jacket and the leash off the back of the chair. He covered the distance back to Sara, leaned down for a kiss, saying in a whisper, "Do you want me to hang around?" before pulling back from her.

She kissed his cheek, the touch of her lips as gentle as the brush of a feather. "Thank you," she whispered back, "But no. I'm going to do this."

His nod was as positive and encouraging as his smile. He straightened up, glancing toward Matthew and then back at Sara before grudgingly calling for Hank. Pausing at the door, he turned and said with a smile in his voice, "Call me tonight, okay?"

Their eyes locking she beamed up at him. "I will."

"Call him?" Matthew said in a sneer when the door had closed behind Hank and Grissom, "That's a good one."

Her smile fading Sara took in a deep breath and made herself look her brother in the eye, hopefully showing determination and confidence. She would not let herself be fazed and intimidated. His smirk vanished and he turned a darkened face toward the window.

She'd rehearsed her opening line well, hoping it went straight to the heart of the matter but also showed she cared and wasn't after a fight. "Gil told me about the attack," she said in a soft voice, gauging his reaction. "I'm sorry it happened."

Keeping his eyes averted Matthew gave a stiff nod. "I'll live."

She sighed. "Mattie," she began uncertainly, wavering when he flinched and she noticed tears well in his eyes.

His jaw tensed, his eyes scrunching shut, hiding the sudden emotion reflected in them. He sucked in a breath. "Don't call me that, please Sara," he pleaded quietly, and swallowed the constriction in his throat. "I haven't been that boy since the day our father died."

Sara watched her brother with compassion. "You're still him to me," she said.

His head snapped up, his eyes reopening and meeting hers hesitantly, and she gave him a shy smile. "How can you say that?" he asked with disbelief in a breathless voice, "After everything I've done."

Instinctively she knew he wasn't talking about the court battle. She thought about her answer carefully, finally opting for honesty as she realised that she owed it to both of them. "It was tough, what you did; it was…devastating." She paused to steady the tremor in her voice. "I trusted you. You were the only person I had left and you...abandoned me."

He wiped a rough hand over his face. "You're right, I did," he said suddenly, heatedly, "and I'm sorry. But can't you see that's why I'm doing this now? It's not because of the money or even out of hatred and spite, despite what you all believe." He paused and brought watery eyes to hers. "I'm doing what I should have done all those years ago. I want to look after you, Sara. I want to look after you the way I should have looked after you when you needed me." His voice turned pleading. "And you need me now, don't you?"

She gave a slow shake of the head. "No, I don't," she said, her smile as soft as her voice. "I don't need you. Not anymore. I've got Gil, and Hank, and all my friends here." Matthew's head was shaking back and forth as she spoke. She paused and took a moment to study him and unable to hold her probing stare he lowered his eyes. "You owe me nothing Matthew," she went on, remembering to breathe and talk slowly. "You were just a kid yourself, just as messed up at what had happened as I was. We had to survive and we did it the best way – the only way we could."

His head was still shaking. "What about this?" he asked suddenly with a wave of his hand in the general direction of the room. "What about in a year's time, huh, when you're still here sitting in this chair? Who'll look after you then?"

His words stung and her hands curling in tight fists on her lap Sara kept silent. Visibly the answer was written all over her face.

"How do you know he's still going to be there then and for the rest of your life?" he went on animatedly, almost beseechingly. "How can you be sure he's not just going to leave you when he's had enough?"

"He won't," she defended.

"_I_ will look after you," he went on, speaking over her. "I will protect you and take care of you as I promised I would then. I let you down, Sara. I failed you. I failed you then and I'm not going to fail you now when you need me most."

"You didn't fail me."

"I was weak. I broke my promise to you, Sara. I took the easy way out and thought only of myself."

"But did you though?"

"I got away as soon as I could. I left, and I left you behind without a second though." Tears were coursing down his face now. "I wasn't there when you needed me. I kept telling myself that I'd come back, that I'd come back for you. Then time passed and I…"

"And you met Vanessa."

Her words were like a slap in his face and he refocused startled eyes on her, and Sara saw her chance to take the upper hand and steer the conversation back to safer grounds. His face lit up, screwing up with dawning realisation. "She gave you my number, didn't she?" he said in a shaky voice. "I always wondered why you would call me at work, like that out of the blue."

Sara quickly dropped her gaze to conceal her shock. So she had called him after all. A trembling hand slowly lifted to her mouth as briefly she considered the consequences of that call. She gave her head a shake, wiling herself not to lose the thread. She needed to make him see. She knew she could make him see if only he kept to her script.

"And she didn't know about your past, did she?" she said, ignoring his interjection and forcing her eyes up, meeting his dead on. "About _our_ past. And she didn't know about me."

His eyes averted, but not before she glimpsed a look of shame in them. "No." His reply was forced out, a barely audible cry.

"And you couldn't tell her about me, could you?" she continued quietly.

"No, I couldn't."

"Because with me came shame. Shame, and guilt – feelings that you pushed away until they were buried deep, deep inside you. But that shame…I felt it too, Mattie. I've lived with it my whole life." Her words were coming too fast, she was forgetting to breathe, but there was so much she had to say, so much she'd carried hidden deep within herself too and for so long. She stopped, closed her eyes and took a moment to calm herself and her racing heart. "Even now," she continued after a while, "after all these years I told no one about our past. No one, but Gil."

Sara watched him while he struggled to take her words in, but after a long moment he looked up and nodded, and took in a deep breath. "I thought that if she knew she'd leave me. And I figured that if you'd managed all this time without me it was because you didn't need me."

"And I don't need you now," Sara reiterated, but not unkindly. "The shame I carried most of my life didn't destroy me; it made me stronger, more determined to succeed and be the best. It made me who I am now."

She paused and felt it was time to play her trump cards. There was more to Matthew's claim than just wanting to make amends with her after all this time, but she had to lay her cards down carefully and in the correct sequence, the way she'd practised with Grissom, or Matthew would simply clam up, like she would.

Transference, Grissom had called it, a proud smile touching the corners of his mouth when she'd eventually worked it out for herself. She'd woken up in the dead of the night, startled and sweaty, yet seeing it all so clearly, and hadn't been able to go back to sleep for the thoughts swirling in her head. He'd explained that it was the unconscious transfer of emotion and feelings originating from repressed childhood experiences and memories from one person onto another, and she had nodded, remembering the closeness and love the two different scenes on the photographs Grissom had recovered conjured.

"I suspect he transferred what he felt for you onto his daughter," he'd clarified, "And then he lost her in the way he feared most, by displaying the very same violent tendencies your father did. He saw that as the catalyst to your mother's actions and consequently the demise of your family, and he feared perpetuating the cycle. When he lost his daughter he lost you all over again. Now he's got what he sees as another chance to make good by you." And within her own conflicting feelings had been an unexpected, almost overwhelming sadness and compassion at her brother's plight

"Gil recovered this for you," she said, jerkily slipping her hand under the shawl covering her legs and nudging out his wallet, "and since you're not pressing charges you can have it back."

Dumbstruck he frowned, reaching across a shaky hand to her lap for it. Their fingers brushed as he took it, their eyes meeting, his grateful, surprised, hers watching, and then he broke eye contact and opened it, hands shaking as he checked its content.

"I'm afraid there's a little print powder left," she said with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders, "but Gil had copies of the photos he found inside made first." Raising sad eyes to her Matthew swallowed. "They're in the envelope over there on the table."

His gaze drifted to the photos but he made no move toward them, which surprised Sara. "Where did he find it?" he asked, finding his voice at last.

"In a dumpster in the alley," she said.

He didn't meet her eye but nodded, visibly relieved by her answer. "Why are you doing this?" he croaked out, refocusing pained eyes onto her, and cleared his throat.

"Because they're yours and you hold them dear."

There was a shift in him then; he looked beaten, defeated. His mouth opened but no sound came, and he dropped his gaze, then blew out a breath, his shoulder rising as he whispered, "Thank you."

Sara didn't comment. She simply slipped her hand under the shawl again, hooking the tips of her fingers on his watch that, as per her wishes and after a little out-of-hours investigating, Grissom had tracked down and bought back from a local pawn shop. "I don't want your thanks," she said, pulling it out. "I'm doing what's right." She slid her gaze down to her trembling hand, once again reading the inscription etched on the back of the watch face. "It was a generous gift," she said, looking up, "She must have loved you very much."

Matthew's eyes shot up to her face, full of confusion and surprise. "Where did you get this?"

She held his gaze unwaveringly. "I asked Grissom to track it down for you." There was no reproach or judgement in her tone or in her expression, and when the penny finally dropped with Matthew she could see in his eyes that he understood the implications of her words; that they'd figured out that the robbery wasn't a robbery at all but a weak and futile attempt at concealing his gambling addiction.

His eyes narrowed questioningly and she shrugged, clumsily holding out the watch which he gingerly took from her. She was glad he didn't try to justify himself or deny it, thus insulting their intelligence. "You need to go back to your family and make amends with them," she said when he looked down at the watch in his hand, his thumb brushing over the inscription on the back. "They need you when I don't. I'm fine; I've got people who love me here, who'll look after me until I can look after myself." Her words came out strong, clear and steady, just as she'd practiced them.

A sad smile broke across his face and he shook his head at the irony of her words. "It's too late for that. Vanessa won't even speak to me anymore."

"What about Sarah?"

He looked more resigned than surprised by her revelation. His eyes averted and he shrugged. "They're doing fine without me."

"It might be too late with Vanessa," Sara said, "but you've got to try with your daughter. She needs you. She needs her dad – now more than ever. It was tough for us growing up without our parents; it shouldn't be the same for her."

Matthew's shoulders slumped in defeat. His hands were shaking and he brought them up, staring at them as his right one clenched around the watch. She knew he was fighting to keep his composure and so was she. She felt drained and uncertain that she was getting through to him. He looked around him uncertainly, then moved to the window in a daze and looked outside. At least he hadn't left, she thought, or shown any signs of losing his temper with her.

"It's _not_ in our genes," she went on in a quiet voice, remembering to slow her speech right down. "Our parents' traits don't define us."

"Don't they?" He whipped round, holding her gaze. His jaw was set but he hadn't raised his voice, and Sara took that as a good sign. "I'm not a good man, Sara. What made you a stronger person made me a weaker one."

"It's going to take time," she said, "but you can do it."

"It's too late."

Grissom had warned her against this next move, but what did she have to lose? "Gil called Vanessa yesterday," she said tentatively, "he spoke with her. He seemed to think that if you got help…she'd let you see Sarah."

Tears hovering in his eyes, he fixed her with a questioning, incredulous gaze. "Why are you doing this for me?" he choked out.

"Because you're my brother, and once upon a time you were the most important person in my life."

He pinched his lips to stop their trembling. "I'm sorry," he said in a breathless whisper, "I'm so very sorry."

"Mattie, please, don't go!" she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion, as he turned away and moved to the door, and she realised that she'd pushed him too far.

He stopped with his hand on the handle, and shook his head.

"Talk to me, please."

His shoulders rose as he heaved a deep, raspy breath, and his head still shaking he flung the door open, fleeing out of the room without a backward glance. Sara breathed a long sigh and watched as the door swung closed on its own, staring at it for a very long time before tears finally came to her eyes. It had been hard to keep detached when she felt so much inside, but she'd had to.

She had done her best, she thought with sadness; she'd tried her best to make him understand.


	39. Chapter 39

Grissom flicked his eyes to the lobby and then down to his watch, checking the time for the umpteenth time. From his vantage point he couldn't miss Matthew on his way out even if the latter in his haste to leave forgot to return his key card. Still no signs of him though, which he figured was a good thing - or not, as the case may be. He sighed and glanced down at Hank, lying patiently at his feet. Hank blinked, droopy eyes seemingly telling him not to worry and to trust Sara, and he couldn't help the purse of his lips that ensued.

"It's not Sara I don't trust," he told Hank silently. "It's her brother."

Of course he trusted her; why else would he have left her alone with Matthew? She held more than enough keys to put her point across, and he didn't believe Matthew would show his true colours to her. It was important for her confidence and recovery that she did this herself, and he had every belief that she would succeed as Matthew was more inclined to accept her words for what they were if they came from her. The transference theory made a lot of sense and went a long way toward explaining some of Matthew's behaviour, but it hid a darker truth, one he didn't want Sara to have to face – not yet anyway.

Matthew was still her brother, and despite everything that had happened between them, she still cared about him. He only needed to remember her wistful expression as she'd stared at the photograph of the two of them as kids to know it. He didn't like deceiving Sara – well, not deceiving as such, more like giving her a partial truth – but he felt he was justified in doing so. Protecting Sara was his first and foremost priority, both physically _and_ emotionally, and her brother had put her through enough heartache without adding to it.

Grissom was so absorbed in his own musings that he almost missed Matthew, who head bent as he strode across the busy lobby from the reception desk narrowly avoided colliding with an elderly woman coming from the opposite direction. Hurriedly, Grissom replaced the brochure he'd held in his hand all this time but hadn't read a single line of. Matthew was already outside by then, and Grissom gave the lead a jerk, rushing Hank to his feet and taking off at a brisk pace after Matthew.

The sun shone brightly outside despite it being late afternoon and it took a second for Grissom's eyes to adjust to the change of light. He stopped abruptly on the curb, shielding his eyes with his hand while he scanned the surrounding area. Matthew stood not ten yards away, partially hidden in the shadows in the recess of the building. Head bowed, held in his hands, he had his back to him and the parking lot.

Briefly Grissom wondered whether he should take Hank back to the car first but decided against it. Tentatively and twisting his hand around Hank's leash to shorten it even more Grissom made his way over, stopping a safe distance away. He paused and stared, then called his name in a quiet voice so as not to startle or threaten him.

Matthew flinched, his body tensing up; he didn't turn round.

"I need to know," Grissom simply said.

Matthew half-turned, glancing up toward Grissom, reddened eyes narrowed, dark, cold and full of tears as he studied him. He was taking short, shallow breaths through his nose.

"I need to know what you told her," he went on softly.

Matthew gave a snort of disbelief, blinked and lowered his gaze.

"Did you tell her the truth?"

Matthew looked up and held his stare for a long time, the genuine bafflement Grissom read in his gaze answering his question in the negative.

"What truth?" Matthew croaked at last, his voice all choked up. "Seems to me like you already know all there is to know about me, and more," he added in a small scoff.

_Don't take the bait_, a small voice whispered. _You know what you needed to know. Sara's fine. Just walk away._ He didn't. Instead a small, sardonic smile formed on his lips. "Call me suspicious, if you want," he said in his usual, unthreatening tone, "jaded, or distrustful even. But I've met lots of people like you over the course of my life, and I'm under no illusions. I just don't believe that you'd want custody of Sara, that you'd want her powers of attorney after all these years simply to make up for the past, for something that you let happen more than twenty years ago. I just…don't believe you to be so altruistic."

A look of puzzlement flashed across Matthew's eyes. He blinked. "But Sara…"

Hank moved and he relaxed his grip on the lead, his eyes flicking to a passing couple nearby as he feigned unconcern. "Sara cares," he said when they were out of earshot. "It's in her nature. You're her brother and despite the last twenty years she has fond memories of you and the boy you were when you were growing up. I don't want to tarnish that." He gave a wistful smile and a shrug, and refocused. "But you said it yourself, many times over, you're not that boy anymore, and I believe that to be the truth."

Matthew screwed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake.

"For Sara to move on and continue with her recovery," he went on, "she needs to be able to make sense of your actions. She needs to believe that they are well-founded and not callous and calculated as I fear them to be." His voice was steady, calm, never raised, yet firm and unyielding. "She needs to believe that at some level this charade of yours, this claim over her life and well-being is carried out of love – however twisted and misguided that love is. And maybe there is some element of truth in it, I don't know; I'm not entirely sure you are capable of love."

Matthew's eyes snapped up surprised, questioning. Then hurt came, a fleeting look that soon darkened, hardened, quashed by years of repressed anger. His jaw set as he fixed Grissom with a cold penetrating stare. Grissom's last remark, said a little glibly maybe, had visibly hit a chord and the CSI wondered whether he'd pushed Matthew too far. He took a small step back, reeling Hank in, but Matthew kept his anger in check.

"I know what you're doing," Matthew said, a cynical smile breaking across his face, "what you're trying to achieve. It's not going to work." He paused and half-turned, then blew out a breath before turning back toward Grissom. He looked remarkably calm and composed when he said, "You're wrong about one thing. I love Sara and I want what's best for her."

"Then you will drop the suit," Grissom said with an easy shrug, "because it's what she wants and what's best for her."

"Only because you've filled her head with lies."

"Oh, no," Grissom said with an amused shake of his head. "You don't know Sara well if you think she's easily swayed…by me, or anybody for that matter. She's her own mind. If it'd been up to me your wallet would still be in evidence. As for your watch…" he gave a sigh. "It was Sara that came up with the transference idea – that you'd transferred what you felt for her onto your daughter," he explained when Matthew pulled a confused face. "I went along with it, and I will admit that it makes sense and that at some level I believe she is correct in her assumption. But I don't believe that it's everything, no, simply another symptom of your pathology."

Matthew's face was a picture of disbelief. "My pathology?" He gave a shallow laugh. "So, Mr Know-it-all, since we're being honest here, what is _your_ assessment of my true intentions?"

Grissom glanced down at Hank who disinterested had lain down by his feet. His mouth pursed in thought and he took a moment to consider his reply – or rather how honest to be in his reply – before bringing his gaze back up to Matthew. "I believe that at first your actions were motivated by hatred," he said finally. "Laura's frantic call informing you of Sara's…accident and life-threatening injuries presented you with the perfect opportunity to exact your revenge on your mother – especially after you learned of Sara's wishes, wishes Laura was about to respect and carry through."

Matthew's wry smile returned. "Good job I was there to keep her alive that little bit longer then, isn't it?"

Grissom felt a blow to his stomach. He took a breath, hiding the raw stinging of the recollections Matthew's jibe conjured up behind his well-practised CSI face and voice. "When Sara woke everything changed," he said, "and you saw another chance, a solution to your debt problems; being granted Sara's powers of attorney would give you control over her life but also over whatever insurance money she's entitled to. Suing the department is the icing on the cake."

He arched his brow, meeting Matthew's gaze dead on, challenging him to refute his claim. Matthew's eyes held Grissom's for a moment before flicking downward. Grissom waited a beat, then scanned his eyes over the lot and plastered a pleasant smile on his lips. His tone however was far from pleasant when he said, "You're going to drop the suit. We've enough to show the courts that your character isn't the best and your motivations more than questionable."

Matthew's eyes shot up, and the acceptance and resignation Grissom saw in them made him pause. "Despite what you think of me," Matthew said, "I care about Sara. Very much so."

Grissom stared at him for a long time before finally giving him a small nod of acceptance. "You need to go home and get your life back on track," he said in a softer tone. "If Sara is right, then you need to make up with your daughter; there's still time with her. And maybe in a year's time when you're on an even keel, get in touch again. Come and see for yourself how much she's accomplished in that time; she'll blow you away." He paused and when Matthew dropped his gaze said, "Come on, Hank, let's go."

Hank stood up, and Grissom turned his back on Matthew and without a backward glance strode back inside the building to Sara. Giving her door a knock he let himself in, then frowned as he found the room empty. He stepped fully into the room, checking for signs of her, his brain quickly scanning through her schedule as he wondered where she could be. Drawing a blank he retraced his steps to reception. When he got to the end of the corridor Grissom took a left, while pulling on the lead Hank went the opposite way.

He stopped and sighed, and gave a tug on the lead. "Come on, Hank," he said a little exasperatedly, "we haven't got time for this." Standing his ground Hank gave a joyful bark. Grissom stared at him with bewilderment and was about to drag him away when his face lit up with understanding. "You think she's outside, don't you?" Hank's tail began to wag a little faster and Grissom laughed. "Come on, then," he said, "Let's go see."

Grissom followed Hank's brisk lead to the Quad, stopping uncertainly when they got there. Sara was there alright, sitting with her back to them in the sunshine, but she wasn't alone. A blond man sat on the bench next to her in her chair. Sara's face was turned toward him, listening intently as he talked animatedly. For a second he thought, it was Greg with her; same build and untidy blond hair. It wasn't. She laughed, and Grissom couldn't help the irrational and totally unjustified pang of jealousy that pulled at his heart.

Hank whimpered, straining on his lead, keen to join Sara, and after checking his surroundings Grissom reached down to unclip him. Grissom stayed where he was watching, while hank bounded over to the couple. Sara took a moment to greet him before turning her head in his direction. Her smile widened and she turned back to her companion. The young man's eyes drifted to him, and Grissom recognised the man from the pool. His hand lifted in a small, tentative wave and sensing his hesitation Sara raised her right hand, beckoning him over.

"Gil, youmember Frank, dontyou?" Sara said smiling brightly when he joined them. "Frank, disis Gil – and Hank," she added, as Hank sniffed up Frank's legs. Grissom reached across, sticking out his right hand, which Frank shook warmly. Sara looked up, catching his eye. "Franksaying – goodbye." Her smile trembled, and Grissom realised that Frank was the first of her new friends to leave, leaving her behind. His hand reached for hers on her lap, his fingers curling around hers tightly. "Eesgoing – hometoday."

"I can't wait," Frank said excitedly, "can you believe it? My own stuff, my own bed…a cold beer! It's the simple things in life that you miss the most. Sara's the only thing I'll miss about this place."

"Where is home?" Grissom asked.

"Not far. Boulder City, Arizona. You know it?"

"Oh, I know it," he said with a knowing smile.

"Sara says she's never been."

His eyes snapped down to Sara with surprise and then it dawned on him that she wouldn't remember. He gave her hand a squeeze, his smile fading as he read her sadness.

"I told her she hasn't missed much," Frank went on animatedly.

Grissom refocused on Frank and nodded. There was an awkward silence, and Grissom wished he'd timed his arrival better.

"Anyway," Frank said, redirecting a bright smile onto Sara, "I have something for you. I hope it's okay."

"For me?"

Frank gave her a tentative nod and produced a small square box from his pocket. The red stuck-on bow in the middle of the lid was a little squashed and Frank puffed it up self-consciously. "My mother picked it," he said, then looked up toward Sara and smiled, "I hope you like it." He held out the box and when Sara made for it with shaky hands opened it for her. Slowly, he pulled out a long and narrow cream silk scarf which he placed in her hand.

Sara blinked, then lifted the scarf to her face. "Slovely, Frank, fankyou." She paused and threw Grissom a despondent look. "But avnothing – for you."

"It's okay," Frank said easily, "I don't want anything. It's just that…" his shoulders lifted, "you made these last three weeks a little more bearable for me and I was kind of hoping that whenever you'd wear the scarf maybe you'd remember me and the time we spent chatting, and take courage."

Sara blinked and nodded her head, then blinked some more before looking down. Grissom dropped his hand to her shoulder, squeezing comfortingly before pulling the scarf from her hand and wrapping it around her neck. Looking up he smiled at Frank. "Thank you," he said, "It's very kind of you." He glanced down at Sara. "Maybe you could come up and visit some time." Her head snapped up, eyes shiny with tears, nodding eagerly.

"I'd like that," Frank said. His eyes flicked from Sara up to Grissom and then to a point in the distance beyond them. His face broke into a big smile. "My parents are here," he said, indicating with his head the far corner of the Quad and the smiling couple waiting there. He picked up the two walking sticks propped up against the bench, carefully lining them up before pushing to his feet.

Instinctively Grissom made to help him but Frank shook his head and he withdrew his hand. "Thank you," Frank said, "But I can manage. I'm determined I'm going to walk out of here on my own and on my two feet." He grinned and pulled his left pant leg up, revealing a prosthetic leg. "Well, almost."

Grissom's eyes shot to Sara, a flash of anguish crossing his face but Sara gave a giggle and he relaxed. "It was nice meeting you, Frank," he then said.

"You too," Frank replied before looking down and pausing a little awkwardly. "Bye, Sara."

"Bye," she said, forcing a smile.

Frank used his sticks to cover the two steps to her before clumsily bending down and kissing her cheek, and Grissom could only watch helplessly the forlorn look in Sara's eyes as Frank left, covering half the distance to his parents before they rushed to him. He turned and lifted his right cane at them in a wave and Sara raised her hand and waved back.

"You okay?" he asked when the trio had disappeared out of sight.

She met his gaze. Her smile widened and she nodded. "That'llbe me someday," she said, "I'll walk outhere onmyown twofeet too."

Grissom hid his sadness behind a soft smile. Then he nodded and silently took the younger man's place on the bench. Most of the Quad was in the shade now but the late afternoon sun still shone warm and bright on their faces. People were making their way indoors, but Grissom sat back, knowing they still had a little time before needing to do so too. His gaze fixed on Hank sniffing the shrubs around the waterfall, the sound of the trickling water and receding chatter cutting through the silence that settled between them.

"So, ow ditgo?" she asked after a while.

He didn't need to ask to know she was referring to his talk to her brother. _Good job I was there to keep her alive that little bit longer then, isn't it?_ Talking with Matthew had left him on edge, upsetting him more that he cared to admit – even to himself – and this last conversation was no exception. He gave his head a shake and then let out a lengthy sigh, pondering his reply.

"How did you know?" he said finally, turning his head toward her. She was staring straight ahead, watching Hank with a fond smile on her lips. She shrugged non-committedly, and he turned his body round on the bench so he could look at her. "It's not that I don't trust you," he began, his tone downcast and apologetic, "but…"

"You dontrust – mybrother."

"No, I don't."

Sara turned, stared at him intently and nodded her head in understanding. "Youfink it's going – benough?"

He reached a tentative hand to her face and cupped her cheek. "Yes," he said categorically, "It's going to be enough. Besides, even if it goes to court he's given us more than plenty to argue and win our case."

Sara nodded again, then her eyes averted and she sighed.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Her shoulder rose and she sighed before bringing her gaze back up to his. "I feelsorry forim, you know? Thismess –eesin. That couldabeen me."

Grissom took a deep breath, thinking of all the near misses she'd had over the years. Yes, it could have been her, he thought, but it wasn't; unlike her brother she'd always made, if not the right choices, better ones.

"You may share the same gene pool as him, Sara," he said at last, "but you're nothing like him."

Sara gave a faint nod but he could tell she was far from convinced. A smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, he shuffled up closer on the bench, took her hands in his and set about convincing her.

"You're warm and compassionate," he said in a whisper, his tone light in the hope of dissipating her gloom, "and loving. Very loving. And beautiful," he added as an afterthought, his smile growing when he noticed the grudging smile forming on her lips, "Let's not forget beautiful. In fact you're the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on."

Her smile became an indulgent purse of the mouth, and he could tell she didn't believe a word of it. She was about to speak when he covered her mouth with his left hand, cutting her short, eager to prove her wrong. His shoulder rose, and out of the blue as he stared into her bright brown eyes he found himself speaking words he seldom did. His expression must have changed then because hers became solemn, her eyes locked to his, reflecting the intensity of his feelings.

"I've loved you from the very first moment I saw you across that crowded lecture room," he said just as softly, "and that love has grown every single day ever since." His hand lifted off her mouth, gently brushing around her eyes. Sara let out a gasp as her eyes drifted shut, and he traced over her eyelids ever so lightly. His vision blurred; his breathing hitching at the emotion he was barely able to contain. "I was mesmerised by your face, the emotion reflected in it, in your eyes, your beautiful eyes…" the words caught, mere breaths on his lips. "Do you remember?"

She swallowed and pinched her lips. Then she reopened her eyes and nodded.

"And I still am," he murmured in a gasp, and took a breath, and then another, closing his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. He dropped his hand and bowed his head, hiding his distress.

"Gil…" Her hand rose to his face, stroking his cheek, then to his hair, gently coaxing his face up.

He resisted. _Good job I was there to keep her alive that little bit longer then, isn't it?_ His eyes screwed shut and he gave his head a shake, willing himself to keep it together for her sake.

Sara increased the pressure of her touch and he surrendered, leaning his face into her hand, needing, craving the contact. He felt her other hand, her left hand, her weaker hand come up on the other side, framing his face as she gently pulled it to her. She called his name again and made soothing, shushing sounds, then dipped her head, gently coaxing his upward until he felt her lips, warm, familiar, inviting, softly brushing against his.

"I'm here," those lips said inaudibly, "I'm still here. I don't blame you for anything. I love you."

His lips responded, parting, meeting her every tentative brush and stroke with small hesitant ones of his own. Her lips tasted of her, of home, and his body awakened, stirring in the same overwhelming manner it used to, catching him by surprise. Instinctively his hands lifted to the back of her head and he deepened the kiss, his mouth crushing, seeking hers hungrily. He forgot all about where they were, about their situation, losing himself completely to the sensations and their rediscovery of each other. For a short moment he was taken back to the last time he had lost himself in her, the last time they had made love, that fateful morning before…before.

He drew back abruptly and breathless stared at her with pained eyes, shocked by the intensity of his response and his lack of self-control but also scared that he'd overstepped the mark and taken things too far with her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, her smile one of slight awe and wonderment as she stared back but the deep love and tenderness in her gaze assuaged all his fears.

"I remember too," she said, her expression becoming shy, unsure, as she read the conflicting emotion on his face. She swallowed, her words slow and halting as she added, "I remember what you taste like, what you feel like under my hands. I remember the way your beard tickles my skin when you kiss me. I remember how you make me feel, how much…" His lips came crashing down on hers, silencing her words and this time he took his time to show her how much he remembered and how she made _him_feel.

When they pulled back from each other slow tears were coursing down her face. "You changed my life," she said.

He blinked and pushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. "No," he said in a murmur, "you changed mine."


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone. I can't believe it's 2012 already. Where is the time going? I decided to split this next chapter up when I got to the 6000-word mark and I still had a long way to go. The good news is that the second half is almost done. It was time for a happier, lighter chapter and this is it. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>"Oh, dear God, Sara, what have you done?"<p>

Her head whipped round toward the door with surprise her smile fading at the shocked expression on his face. Looking out of the window Sara had been so lost in thoughts that she hadn't heard him. And there he stood, gawking at her, rooted to the spot with his hand still on the handle. Her eyes slowly scanned over him from head to toe, her smile returning as she thought of the care he'd put into his appearance and she was glad she'd thought to ask her mother to look through her closet at home for something nicer to wear on their first date than her usual tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt.

He'd shaved his beard and now sported the more youthful, less serious look she favoured. The cream shirt he'd put on, left open at the neck and one she hadn't seen him wear before, complemented perfectly his pants and brown suede jacket. She remembered fondly their conversation a few weeks previously when on mentioning she particularly liked the jacket he'd admitted a little bashfully that it came as no surprise since she had chosen it, gifting it to him for his last birthday. The pants were brown and baggy, too baggy for Sara's liking, but freshly pressed and far dressier than his usual jeans or workpants. His black leather shoes were polished to a gleam.

Her eyes slid back up to his face and the look of shock still etched in his features. Her hand slowly rose to her hair. "You don't like it," she stated a little despondently.

He swallowed and gave his head a shake, refocusing his gaze. "No. No, it's not that. It's just…different."

Sara did her best to stifle the smile tugging at her lips. "You don't like it," she stated again.

"No. No, I do," he defended vehemently. His shoulder lifted, badly faking unconcern. Her smile broadened. "It's just…short. Shorter than what I'm accustomed to, that's all." He plastered a smile and covered the distance to her, his hand reaching for her hair.

"It'll grow back," she said lightly, "with all its kinks and curls."

His smile became wistful. "I like it," he said with conviction. "It just…took me by surprise." He leaned down, pressing his lips to her cheek in greeting.

Instinctively her eyes closed and she did a double take at the whiff of aftershave that drifted to her nostrils. He had quite gone to town, hadn't he? "I didn't want to go out with that patch of shorter hair, you know?" she said in a small voice when he pulled back, _or with my hair pulled back in yet another ponytail_, she finished silently.

His smile softened with understanding. "I love it," he said quietly. "It's very…" he waved his fingers about her head, searching for the right word.

"Gamine," Sara said.

His brow rose. "Sorry?"

"Gamine is the word you're looking for. It's…the gamine look."

The look of mischief that filled his gaze caused Sara's brow to arch challengingly but smiling broadly he bit his tongue. "It's lovely," he said again, bending down for another kiss. "It befits you perfectly."

She gave a disparaging shake of the head. "Dr Williamson says that I look like Audrey Hepburn."

His brow shot up again and he pursed his mouth appraisingly, visibly making a mental comparison. At least he had the decency not to burst into outright laughter. She did look a little boyish maybe, but she'd hoped that the soft make-up her mother had applied, as well as the clothes she wore and the scarf Frank had given her carefully tied around her neck made her look more feminine, if not stylish. Her mother had brought along some perfume too but she had declined.

"Oh," he said suddenly reaching into his inner breast pocket, "I almost forgot. I've…brought you something." He met her gaze and smiled.

She looked down to the pendant he was holding up in his hands. A single Carnelian gemstone roughly the size of a small perfectly oval pebble mounted on a four-prong head hung off a silver rope chain. It wasn't in a box and she guessed it wasn't new. Trembling fingers lifted toward it and she touched the clear terra cotta orange red stone**.**

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, as if reading her thoughts, "I should have thought to put it in a box. It's not new… I gave this to you―"

"On our first date," she finished for him in a gasp of realisation, her eyes lifting back up to his. He gave her a hesitant smile and nodded, and at a loss for words she beamed up at him.

"May I?" he asked, indicating her neck with his hands.

Sara swallowed and nodded her head, and he moved behind her and fastened the chain to her neck. She looked down toward the heavy pendant, resting perfectly just above the hem of her blouse on her sternum, and brought a shaky hand to it, smiling as she felt his lips brush against her nape. She turned her head toward his face. "Thank you," she said, her voice small, choked up at his thoughtfulness. "It's beautiful."

"Not as much as you," he said in an almost inaudible murmur and held her gaze.

The emotion and love that spilled out of his eyes caused her heart to stand still. "Thank you," she mouthed and smiling reached her left hand up to his cheek, bringing his face closer for a kiss.

"We're doing this all wrong," he said when they broke apart.

Her face took on a solemn expression. "How do you mean?"

"It is the custom for a gentleman to wait until the end of a date to ask for a kiss."

"I'm not one for tradition."

Her words gave him pause. "In that case…" He cupped his hand to her face and drew her in for another longer kiss, and Sara felt the first flutters of rekindling in her stomach. He pulled back slightly breathless and she knew he'd felt it too. He formed his lips into a warm smile. "Shall we?" he said indicating the door with a jerk of his head. He lifted his shoulder in an apologetic shrug. "We're on a tight schedule."

By the time they got to the car lot Sara's mouth was hurting for all the grinning she was doing. She'd been so excited all morning, talking about nothing else than this date to all and sundry, hypothesising about where he might take her. And now it was happening and she felt giddy. The sun was shining bright overhead; the birds were singing…He stopped the chair by a grey car she didn't recognise and the grin dropped off her face.

"Where's your car?" she exclaimed with obvious disappointment.

He pressed the fob to unlock the Prius and sighed. There was a slight delay before he answered and she could tell he was debating how honest to be with her. "It's at home. It's just that…" he sighed again, "it's just not big enough to fit a wheelchair in, Sara. I'm sorry." He shrugged. "This is_your_ car."

Her brow rose at this titbit of information, her eyes following his and she noticed the foldaway wheelchair in the rear. "I thought we were going for a _car_ ride," she said with puzzlement.

"We are," he said quickly, brightly, "But what if we break down? Or if we need to stop for an emergency? What if―"

The corner of Sara's mouth curled up in amusement. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"I hope so." He smiled and opened the passenger door, then manoeuvred the chair flush to the opening before putting the brakes on.

"You're sure you can do this?" she asked in a giggle when he slid an arm around her shoulders and the other under her legs.

He paused and met her smiley eyes. Mischief shone in his. "Scared I'm going to drop you?"

"Will you?"

"No." He gave a chuckle. "I passed my training with flying colours. You just need to wrap your arms around my neck, keep your head down and hold on as tight as you can."

Sara got into position as she'd been shown by Marcy and he lifted her out of the chair without too much difficulty. She kept her face nestled in the crook of his neck, her hands crossed at the wrists around his head. His aftershave made her heady and her excitement a little reckless and a naughty smile pulling at her lips she feathered the spot under his ear with small kisses, almost causing him to lose his hold on her at the last minute. She felt his body tense and he tightened his grip, transferring her quickly, if a little bumpily, into the car. She let go of him, and he straightened up with a wince, then fixed her with a hard stare but couldn't keep the straight face for more than a few seconds before his smile broke through.

"Just testing your resolve," she said innocently.

He reached for the seatbelt, pulled it across her and secured it. "It's going to take a lot more than that to test my resolve," he said quite solemnly but there was a glint in his eyes as he glanced at her that she couldn't quite fathom. She swallowed, her breath catching at the sudden, unexpected surge of arousal that shot through her.

Unaware of what was going through her head, he gently repositioned her legs in the foot well and pulled down her blouse. Then he paused, his eyes lingering on her face, watching her, studying her, and she could tell he was still trying to get used to the new haircut. Losing her hair had been a shock to her too but as she'd watched in the mirror as it fell about her she'd known she was doing the right thing. She needed to make him see that even though the old Sara was still there somewhere, a new one was hiding in her shadow. And her hair was short.

He smiled, asking if she was comfortable. To her nod and shy returning smile he moved out of the car and she watched in the rear-view mirror as he hurriedly took the chair back to reception. The spring in his step and smile on his face as he strode back to her filled her with confidence that their date would go to plans – her plans.

"So, where are you taking me," she asked as he took his place behind the wheel, "if it's not home?"

"It's not a surprise if I tell you," he replied and put the key in the ignition, starting the engine. He buckled up and looked at her. "Ready?"

Sara's wide grin was answer enough and he reversed out of the spot. "Is this car electric?" she asked suddenly, her eyes fixed to the display monitoring fuel consumption.

He smiled. "It's a hybrid. It uses both gas and electricity to operate." His smile widened and he chuckled. "You were hell-bent on getting one of these – doing your bit to protect the environment."

Sara gave him an unsurprised, thoughtful nod, her eyes looking up from the confines of the car toward the big, bright world outside.

"Do you want to listen to some music?" he asked when they'd turned out of the lot onto the main road.

Sara took her eyes off the red mountains shimmering in the distance and lowered them to the stereo. A CD stuck out of the opening and she frowned on noticing her scrawl on it. Idly she wondered what it was she'd been listening to before her accident. There was only one way to know and jerkily she leaned over and raised her left hand to it, pushing the CD in with her fingertips. The stereo switched itself on automatically, soft music filling the cab. A smile spread over her face as she listened to the first mandolin notes, immediately recognising the song.

_I'd give up forever to touch you, 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow,_

"This is just…perfect," she said, closing her eyes as she listened to the song, "Just perfect. The perfect start to the perfect date."

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, And I don't want to go home right now._

"I hope you're not disappointed," he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped open. "I won't be," she said with conviction and stared at him enquiringly. "Do you remember this song?"

His eyes narrowed as they glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Only because it's one I've heard before," he said hesitantly, concentrating on the road. "Why?"

"It's our song," she said, pleased she knew something about them that he didn't.

He flicked a puzzled face in her direction. "Our song?"

Her grin turned playful. "You don't remember?"

His smile matched hers. "I didn't know. There's a difference." His tone was mild, amused, if a tad touchy. He flicked his eyes back to the road.

She fell silent, pondering his words, wondering why she'd never told him especially since it appeared that it was a song she'd listened to on a regular basis. "San Francisco. 1998," she said. "The diner we had a coffee at near the bridge, before you went back to Vegas that first time. It was playing in the background. It had just been released and the waitress had it on repeat."

_And I don't want the world to see me, 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand,_

"I remember," he said softly, slowing down as he joined a line of waiting traffic. "The words…it's a…very apt," he added with a careful sideways glance at her.

_When everything's meant to be broken, I just want you to know who I am._

"Maybe before," she sighed, suddenly finding the lyrics quite gloomy, "but now it's kind of a mood killer." She redirected her bright smile onto him. "Don't you think?"

Grissom burst out in a quiet chuckle, then turned fully toward her and watched her uncertainly for a moment before reaching over to switch to the radio. The way he looked at her made her feel like she was a riddle he was trying to figure out, which was a good sign she hoped. The line of traffic moved forward and he returned his attention to the road, following suit.

_Le Freak_ by Chic came on and without thinking she began humming the lyrics. She caught him watching her again and she wondered whether she was so very different now as to give him pause. She could only hope he could – would – love her new self as much as he did the old one. In every way.

They stopped again, and he turned and smiled and reached over to touch her cheek gently. His gaze moved over her face like a caress, as though he was committing her to heart and Sara felt cold shivers ripple over her skin. Completely unaware of the effect he had on her he dropped his hand to hers on her lap and refocused on the road.

"Show me the strip," she said suddenly, noticing the sign for Las Vegas Boulevard.

"The strip?" he exclaimed, his head whipping round toward her with disbelief. "But you hate the strip. You hate the noise, the crowds, the bright lights, the traffic. Sara, at this time of day the traffic will be murder."

"I don't know any of that, yet," she said resignedly, and he glanced at the clock on the dashboard with a sigh. "I promise we won't stop. I just want to see it for what it is."

"Okay." The car in front pulled off and he followed, checking his mirrors as he signalled left. "The strip it is then, but we're not stopping or we'll never make it back for six." Sara's brow rose, her smile probing. "No point looking at me like that," he said in a chuckle, "My lips are sealed." Her hand moved to his lap and she stroked upward. A look of deep fright filled his face and she laughed. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed, and she was sure his cheeks had coloured.

"Testing your resolve," she said quite innocently.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then lowered his hand to hers and removed it, gently placing it back into her lap. A smile played round the edges of his mouth and they settled in a companionable silence, Springsteen singing of Hungry Hearts in the background. As they drove down Las Vegas Boulevard Sara's eyes took it all in, unblinking and wide – the sights, the crowds, the noise, the lights. He was right, she didn't like it and yet there was an entrancing power to the place, a bigger force that made you gape with wonder.

Every so often her gaze would sweep across to his side of the road and she'd watch the reflections of the neon lights dance in his smiling eyes as he drove. Dipping her head she noticed through the windshield the tower looming tall in the near distance, so tall that its needle appeared to be swaying in the wind. Sara repressed an inexplicable shiver.

"That's the Stratosphere tower," he said, stealing the words from her, and paused. He was watching her again; she could feel his eyes on her as he spoke. "It's―"

She raised her hand and he stopped talking. "I remember," she said in a whisper, and frowned. Her head snapped round toward him. "I know."

She repressed another shiver, this time accompanied by a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she was falling from a great height. She heard herself scream – not a terrified scream but one of exhilaration – as she held on for dear life.

"I've been up there," she said vivid memories filling her mind as well as her body, "with you."

She turned back toward the tower. It stood closer now and she could see movement at the very top – cars filled with people careening down the rails of the hanging rollercoaster. A third shiver coursed through her and she turned wide eyes back to Grissom. He had a wide, smug smile on his lips.

"How did you do it?" she asked with utter disbelief. "How did you get me on it?"

He shrugged, then gave her a sideways glance. "It took a few attempts," he said finally, "but the view of the mountains from up there is mind-blowing and you couldn't resist. At first, we'd go up together and just be. We'd have the wind in our hair, in our face; it's almost impossible to talk, so we didn't. Often I'd ride the coaster alone while you waited, and one day without warning you just took my hand and came with me."

"That's where you're taking me, isn't it?" she said with sudden realisation. "To see the mountains?"

They'd stopped at another red light and he turned toward her. "Is that okay?" he asked with a tentative smile.

She swallowed the rush of emotion that surged through her. She could feel tears building and she willed them away. So much love and consideration, so much forethought. "Thank you."

The lights changed and he took his foot off the brake pedal, easing forward and taking a right turn off the strip. "Don't thank me just yet," he said, reaching across to give her hand a squeeze. "It might be a total disaster."

She turned her hand in his, returning the squeeze. "It won't be," she said with conviction.

His smile was as soft as the look in his eyes and she sat back, refocusing her gaze on the passing scenery. Soon there was only desert all around then. Desert and more desert whichever way she looked, stretching all the way to the mountains beyond. And despite its inherent desolation the scene was magnificent. They soon reached the foothills and the more sinuous road leading upward closer to the sky.

Before long, he slowed right down, pulling off at a roadside viewing area half-way up to the top. He lowered the window on her side and cut the engine. The warm breeze hit her face, filling the car with smells and sounds. From her vantage point Sara could see the whole of the valley below and the ant-like sprawl of Vegas beyond. Wispy strands of cirrus clouds weaved across the blue sky. Far above a vulture soared up, letting out sharp piercing shrieks. The sun was still fairly high in the sky but setting and the shadows it cast on the red mountains was spectacular. "I've been here before," she said as a strong sense of déjà-vu filled her.

He nodded softly. "Many times. This is another one of the places we come to, you know, to just be. There's a track up there we'd follow to a clearing and we'd set up camp for a few hours."

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "No. This…here…this precise spot." And then it dawned on her. "You took me here on our first date, didn't you?" Her hand slowly came up to the pendant and she swallowed and looked down, totally overwhelmed. This time she couldn't fight the tears that filled her eyes. His hand moved to her face, gently coaxing it up. His eyes shone and he smiled and slid his fingers under the rim of her glasses, wiping her tears.

"We have no time for tears," he whispered gently, his shoulder lifting in a mild shrug. "We're only on number three on my list of things to do on our first date." Shifting round on the seat toward her he leaned across to kiss her lips. "And this was number four," he murmured softly, his lips vibrating against hers.

A stifled chuckle escaped her lips and he pulled back. "I wish I had my camera," she said without thinking, "So I could capture this moment for ever." Then she remembered her limitations and sighing averted her gaze.

He moved back, reaching his arm between the seats to the back of the car. She looked up. His mouth twitched up with pleasure and he pinched his lips. His brow gave a waggle and baffled she looked down at the black sports bag he was pulling onto his lap. He unzipped it and just like a magician produced her camera.

"You _have_ thought of everything, haven't you?"

"I aim to please," he said a little diffidently.

"Take a picture. Now, please."

"No," he said gently. "You're going to do it." She was going to speak, explain all the reasons why that was impossible, when his brow rose sharply, silencing her. Slowly and holding her gaze meaningfully, he held out the camera to her, waiting for her to outstretch her hand to place it in her palm. "I went to the camera shop and explained the situation and they came up with the perfect solution."

"To what?" she asked with sadness.

Dumbstruck she watched as he opened the bag wider and took out a car window mount clamp with a tripod head. He dipped his head to meet her gaze and shrugged. "You just fix it to the window frame, Sara. It's no big deal. I also brought your remote shutter release." Her mouth opened but no words came. "Marcy said that you should be able to handle it by yourself," he went on with a smile, "and with your guidance I can help with framing the shots."

Sara blew out a deep breath, and then another, and shook herself out of her stupor. "I don't know what to say," she whispered in a shaky breath.

The tender look that crept into his eyes melted her heart. His hand came up to her face and he smiled. "Come on," he said, "let's do this, or the light will be all wrong."

She knew he was gently mocking her and she laughed.

Dared she hope?


	41. Chapter 41

"Audrey Hepburn," he said under his breath in a chuckle, his tone incredulous. He gave his head a shake, laughing some more before refocusing his eyes on the instruction sheet he was holding in his hands.

Sara frowned, her mouth pursing in mock offence but he didn't notice. She craned her neck as far left as she could, glancing at her partial reflection in the rearview mirror, and smiled. Audrey Hepburn or not, she liked what she saw; she liked it very much.

"I like it very much too," he echoed quietly, and her gaze snapped round toward him. Had she inadvertently spoken her thoughts aloud? His expression was serious though, his eyes intent on his reading, and she wondered whether she'd dreamed his words. His lips pinched, the rogue smile that suddenly spread on his face betraying him. Grinning he turned toward her, and Sara felt a rush of love fill her heart to the brim.

It took no time at all for him to fit the camera mount onto the window frame and then fix the camera to it before finally attaching the remote shutter release. Her eyes followed his every move, often flicking to his profile face and studying the various expressions reflected on it. He worked diligently, methodically and with purpose and she knew that that was the way he did everything. _Everything_, she thought and swallowed the sudden tightening in her throat at the thought of his hands on her body.

The heat even at this altitude and despite the breeze was considerable and he'd taken his jacket off, showing off strong, tanned and hairy forearms. She'd felt safe and secure in those arms when he had transferred her into the car, she'd felt like she belonged there and as she'd peppered his neck with playful kisses she'd wondered what it would be like, what it would feel like if his lips touched her body in the same way. Instinctively she missed that physical contact, that closeness and connection, and hoped he missed it too.

The kiss the previous day in the Quad had knocked the wind out of her; he'd demonstrated so much passion and urgency, desperation too, when he was normally so measured, composed and controlled. He had reawakened physical sensations in her she had thought dead. He'd left her stunned, wanting more, needing more from him, but as she'd stared in his eyes she'd seen reluctance, reticence and conflict, and sadly she understood why.

She knew he loved her dearly, but could they still be a couple in every sense of the word? She wanted them to be with all her heart, but did he? Or would he prefer to settle for a more platonic – no less loving but nonetheless platonic – relationship? Would that be enough for either of them? Could he go past her physical disabilities and restraints and love her again, truly love her the way she was now, without reservation? Was that asking too much?

He looked at her then, smiling when he caught her watching, and unaware of the thoughts swirling her head asked her to open her hand. She gave her head a shake, refocusing, then silently looked down at her hand with puzzlement. Slowly she uncurled her fingers, opening her hand flat, and he reached in through the open car door to place the shutter release in it. All she had to do, he explained, was to wrap tight fingers around it and then simply press the button with her thumb when she was ready.

With a giddy smile he switched the camera on. Immediately the display screen at the back lit up, allowing Sara to view the scene from where she sat. It would have been nice to have been able to shoot from different angles and viewpoints but getting her out of the car would take too long for the time they had and she didn't ask. He'd done so much for her already, made her date – their date – so special and treasured that she didn't want him to think she was ungrateful.

He was crouching and he paused, stretching his back with a wince before slowly straightening up and wiping his arm over the sweat beading on his brow. The corner of his mouth twitched up with amusement. "What?" he asked, his smile growing.

Realising she'd been caught gawking again she lowered her eyes to the screen. "I was thinking how lucky I am to have you," she said, glancing up at him, and shrugged, "to have met you when I did and…" her words died off on her lips and she forced a shaky smile.

He let out a long breath, his face taking on a look of deep sadness, then crouched down again and reached in his hand to touch her face. "Is this too much?" he asked softly. "Are you finding this too overwhelming? Dr Williamson feared that might be the case. We can go back now if you want and come back another day."

She turned her face into his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, silencing him. "No, Gil, this is perfect. I am overwhelmed," she added, meeting his soft eyes, "but not for the reasons you think." He stared at her probingly and she smiled wider. "Honestly, everything is perfect. Now let's grab some photos before the light changes." Just to make her point she pressed her thumb on the button and the camera made a clicking sound.

A wide smile broke across his face, crinkling his eyes. "Okay." He reached for the bottled water on her lap, twisted the cap off before bringing it to his mouth and taking a long thirsty drink. She could only watch, spellbound. "So, tell me Ansel Adams, what do I do?"

They worked with the same ease and fluidity as she imagined they'd always done. Grissom would help her focus and frame the shots, following her instructions as to composition, lighting and tone with remarkable patience and to the letter. A couple of times and without being prompted he got behind the wheel and drove the car round to the next bend in the road and a new scene of the same postcard-like picture of the desert would unfold before her.

And she'd just stare open-mouthed and wide-eyed, simply in awe of what she was seeing. It all looked so familiar and she found it hard to separate the images before her from what she thought she remembered, everything compounding in her mind. And before long she couldn't tell new from old, and past from present, and she wondered if that was why he'd brought her there.

Only when she was absolutely sure she had everything right she would she press the shutter, capturing magical moments and making new memories with each new photograph. Far too soon though the light began to change and Sara knew their window of opportunity had come to an end, and with it her afternoon out.

"We'll have plenty more days out like this," he said, reading the sudden darkening in her mood, "I promise."

Sara forced a smile and nodded. "I know we will. It doesn't stop me from feeling sad though."

"I know," he sighed.

Packing away took a few minutes and soon Grissom took up his position at the wheel again. He put his hand on the key, about to turn it when he paused, shifting uncomfortably on the seat. Sara turned just in time to see him throw a furtive glance in her direction and shove something into his pants pocket.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied in an overly cheery tone that didn't fool her one bit, and made to turn the key again.

"What was it?"

He paused. "What?"

"What you just put away."

"It's nothing," he said, flashing a quick smile.

"Gil?"

His shoulder lifted; he didn't meet her gaze. "I was…just making sure."

She frowned. "Making sure of what?"

He turned his head, looking up into her eyes. "That I hadn't forgotten anything."

Her face twisted with puzzlement; then a slow smile of realisation spread across it. "Your list?"

"Yeah," he said in a sigh, a grudging smile forming at getting caught.

"And have you?"

He paused, and she could see the hesitation in his gaze. He shook his head. "There's one more thing on it," he said.

Her heart beat faster in anticipation. "What is it?"

His shoulder lifted. "To share a memory with you. I mean, an old memory," he added quickly.

"Yeah?" To his soft nod she smiled and said, "Do I get to choose which one?"

"Yeah," he replied with a soft smile.

He was giving her carte blanche. Immediately, her thoughts turned to her own list of things to do on a first date and the one item on it. She stared at him. The four words were poised, on the tip of her tongue, but at the last minute she lost her nerve, saying instead, "Tell me the quirkiest thing about you."

He burst out laughing. "What?"

She shrugged. "Something I don't already know."

"That's not a memory."

"It could become one."

He pursed his mouth. His expression became thoughtful for a moment and then he smiled. "I talk in my sleep."

"You talk in your sleep," she repeated flatly, incredulous.

"Or so you claim. I never had any complaints before you."

Her eyes narrowed at his obvious teasing and raising her right hand which she made into a fist she punched him square on the upper arm.

"Ouch," he mouthed, wincing as his right hand came up to rub his left arm. "You're getting stronger."

"Sleep-talking isn't quirky," she said.

He smiled. "It's not?"

Sara's shake of the head was deliberately slow and he gave out a musing sigh. "I-I make my own chocolate-covered―"

"Grasshoppers," she finished for him. "I know about that already."

His brow lifted with surprise. "Greg?"

"My mother," she said. "And that's not quirky either, that's just…weird."

"Oh, now I'm weird, am I?" he said in a disbelieving chuckle. "Okay." His mouth pursed thoughtfully. "I…I breed Madagascan cockroaches, _which I race_."

Sara's jaw dropped, and not at the racing bit. "You keep cockroaches? Cock_roaches_?" She gave a wince. Weird, quirky, surely the line was blurred in his mind. "And these," she winced again, "cockroaches, they…live at home with us?"

"Yes, they live at home with us, and…" his lips pinched to stop his growing smile; his face filled with mischief, "Stevie."

Now Stevie she knew about. "I want to meet Stevie," she said, her lack of surprise wiping the smug smile off his face. "I heard a lot about him."

"Your mother?"

She laughed. "No. Greg."

He let out a long disparaging sigh and shook his head.

"I thought he lived at the lab," she said.

"He used to," Grissom said. His shoulder lifted, "Before."

Her face darkened a little and she gave him a nod of understanding. "Is this why we couldn't go home?"

"No," he cut in vehemently.

"Because you thought I'd find all this strange?"

His mouth twitched up with a smile. "You forget I already know you don't."

Sara was back to grinning. "And Hank's fine with it?"

"He is. Now," he added mischievously.

Sara was having a lot of fun, this easy banter so heart-warming that she was at a loath to stop. She loved being out of the Centre, just the two of them in these idyllic surroundings; this moment held so much joy, so much promise of things to come. And it came as such a reprieve after all the worry and heartache over her brother.

She looked up to the car ceiling and thought about home. Her home. Grissom had brought along photographs, and she'd quizzed her mother about it at length. She already knew the layout and decors and could visualise herself there, bugs and all. But it wasn't the same as being there in the flesh.

"I can't wait," she said.

"I know."

The tone of his voice mirrored her wistfulness and she smiled. She waited for him to say more, tell her the real reason why he couldn't have taken her home today but he lapsed into silence, and unwilling to spoil the good mood she didn't ask. She heard voices approach from behind them and the beeping of the car in front being unlocked, and watched as a family of four climbed into their Suburban. Their afternoon out had come to an end too, and as they pulled away she realised that theirs was the last car remaining.

They were alone in the perfect setting and unlike at the clinic they wouldn't be disturbed. She had to seize her chance, and she had to do it now. "I made one too," she said, "A list."

His head whipped round with surprise. "You did?"

She nodded. She had a moment of hesitation, but decided to go for broke. What did she risk? Rejection? It wouldn't be the first time, she figured, and she wouldn't let it stop her from trying again, and again.

"And…have we?" he asked tentatively when she kept silent. "Have we covered everything on your list?"

She swallowed and gave her head a brisk shake.

"What is it?"

She held his probing gaze and smiled. The tenderness in his eyes and gentleness in his voice made her heart falter. "There's only one thing on my list," she said, her right hand unconsciously lifting to the pendant on her chest.

His eyes averted and looking through the windshield he nodded his head. "I think I know what it is," he said in a grave tone, shifting in his seat until he faced her. The laughter had gone from his eyes replaced by sadness.

She gave him a small, shy smile. Her stare remained solemn, slightly pleading. "Can you kiss me?" she said in a barely audible whisper, the last word dying on her lips. Her throat felt dry suddenly, as parched as the desert they'd been capturing in photos, and she swallowed. "Can you kiss me the way you kissed me then? Can you take me back to that moment?"

He seemed to know exactly which moment she was referring to. "I don't know if I can," he said, his eyes filling with pain.

She flashed him another smile and nodded, resigned, yet not disappointed. She'd pushed too hard, too soon, and she had expected him to be reticent at the very least. He dipped his head, seeking her gaze and she forced a brighter smile. She'd had a wonderful time and she kicked herself for spoiling it by being impatient. She was about to apologise and give him a way out when he whispered, "I could always try."

Her smile trembled and she nodded. Dared she hope? His eyes locked to hers and he shifted further round on the seat, folding his knee over the middle console. Slowly he leaned across, and Sara's eyes closed in anticipation. Gentle hands came up, framing her face, tilting it to the side. His lips were gentle, warm and wet, tentative and searching at first. It wasn't like the previous day's kiss at all. It was better. Whereas his kiss had been hard and desperate then, today it was the opposite, unhurried and exploring. Rediscovering.

She brought her right hand up to his face, pulling him closer. Their lips parted, their tongues seeking one another in a soft slow dance. Her hand slid down the side of his face to his neck and the open collar of his shirt. She could feel the arrow of hairs sticking out of the top, soft and inviting under her fingertips. Idly she thought it – kissing – the perfect exercise for her hands too, not just her mouth as Paula had implied.

He drew back all too soon, and smiling, tugged at one end of the scarf, delicately pulling the knot free, exposing her throat. His eyes travelled over her skin, his hand soon following the same path. She could not take her eyes off his face and the emotion reflected in it as he watched her, touched her. He gulped and brought his eyes back to hers. Smiling she gave a nod of encouragement, closing her eyes again as she felt the scarf brush against her neck as he pulled it off completely.

"You're testing my resolve again, aren't you?" he said with a trace of amusement in his voice.

Sara didn't reply or reopen her eyes; she simply let the smile of pleasure spreading on her lips do the talking.

When he spoke again his voice was a low, heady, yet solemn whisper. "As I recall you were testing my resolve then too," he said, "Had been doing for quite some time." The last few words came out muffled when his lips like the soft brush of a feather kissed over the pressure point on her throat. Back and forth his mouth travelled over her skin, back and forth, small licks and gentle sucks that made her gasp and moan and shiver with pleasure.

Caught off guard by the intensity of her body's response Sara threw her head back, offering herself to him. Her heart was thumping; she could feel it push against her chest with every one of his touches. Her breaths were coming out in small, needy pants. Her hand rose to his head, her fingers threading through his hair, easing him closer still, pulling his face up from her neck to her mouth. She took a deep breath through her nose and as he captured her mouth in a searing kiss the muscles in the pit of her stomach tightened with excitement and she let out another long moan.

He groaned too, his kissing becoming more fervent, more urgent, more audacious at her response. One hand – she gasped and bit his lip – one hand kept her face turned upward while the other slid down her throat following the line of her sternum to the pendant on her chest. His hand stopped and out of the blue he pulled himself off her. His breathing was fast, ragged, hot on her face.

She reopened her eyes. Their eyes locked, his still uncertain, waiting, seeking permission to go further, hers still pleading with him, urging, granting access. He didn't move, and again she read reluctance in his features. She smiled and slid her hand down his arm to his hand on her chest, covering it. She could feel her own heart rise and fall with every beat through his hand, and maybe she figured that's what he was listening to.

Slowly she threaded her fingers through his and slid their joined hands through the gap in the blouse. "It's okay," her eyes said as the top button came undone and she stroked over her breast. She kept her eyes open, intent on his. The breath caught and she let out a small gasp at the warmth that spread from his touch. It felt like her insides were melting. He had closed his eyes and taken a sharp breath, his face filling with overwhelming pleasure. Her nipples stood hard and erect through her bra and the feel of his hand on it was as much as either of them could stand.

"Don't be afraid," she said. "I want this as much as you do."

He swallowed. His eyes snapped open, dark and so full of desire suddenly that tears built up in her eyes. He was breathing harder now, and he pinched his lips. "I'm not," he said, holding her gaze as he moved his hand under hers, stroking over her breast. "I'm not afraid." Gently, he eased their hands out of her blouse. "But Sara, we can't go further."

His reaction far exceeding her wildest dreams and smiling she gave him a slow compliant nod. "I know, my love, I know." She took a breath. "Thank you," she said, her eyes filling with tears, "For making me feel again. For making me feel like it's possible."

"Come here," he sighed and pulled her to him. They remained as one for a short minute and he stroked and kissed her hair. He was shifting position, uncomfortable on the seat, when his cell rang, startling them both. "Sorry," he said, giving her a sheepish smile, "I–I set the alarm." He pulled out of her grasp and reached for the device on the dashboard, switching it off.

"The alarm?" she said with disbelief. She didn't know whether to laugh with despair or amusement. As it was she just laughed. "You set the alarm on our date?"

His shoulder lifted diffidently, his mouth pursing in contrition. "I was worried we'd lose track of time." Sara pinched her lips, badly repressing her growing mirth. "I'm nothing if not prepared, Sara, might as well get used to it."

His touchiness was endearing. "We didn't stop there then, did we?"

He was staring intently. "No, we didn't." He smiled, his eyes flicking down to her chest and to the pendant. He picked it up and stared at it wistfully.

"Tell me," she said.

He looked up, a smile on his face. "No."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" he repeated musingly. He shrugged and propped his right elbow on the head rest and stroked the back of his fingers to her cheek. "Because I wouldn't have the words, Sara. I wouldn't have the words to do that moment justice. When it is time I will take you back to that moment and show you. But it isn't now." He let out a breath and pinched his lips, his eyes averting briefly before moving back up to her face, and she saw promise there, promise and – she smiled – _resolve_. "When we don't have a curfew," he added, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips.

"I don't remember ever having a curfew," she said musingly, "But then again I was never asked on many dates."

"Neither was I." His gaze flicked down and he paused. "You're not disappointed?"

"Disappointed? Oh, Gil, how can I be disappointed when you've given me the most fabulous time. This date…it's exceeded all my expectations."

"Mine too."

The way he was watching her again made her feel like he was committing her and this moment to memory. Her hand reached up to his face and she stared back at him, smiling directly into his bright blue eyes.

"I'm the lucky one," he said, reading her thoughts, "believe me." He took in a breath and let it out slowly and smiled. "Come on, we really need to get going now or there will be no second date."

She gave him a nod, and he dropped her hand onto her lap before easing back, extricating himself from the rather awkward position he'd got himself into. "I'm too old to be doing this in cars," he said wincing and shaking his head in disbelief as he began to straighten up his clothes.

She laughed. "Then maybe next time you'll take me home," she said pointedly.

He sighed and reached up his hand to her hair as he had done many times before in the past when he'd brushed that errant lock away from her eyes. Except this time the lock wasn't there and he lowered his hand without making contact. "You know I want that too," he said. "But I've explained why it's not possible yet. You're just going to have to wait a little longer."

She hummed a dubious reply but let it go – for now. Her mother had been very cagey about it too when she'd asked her. Out of the blue the comment Paula had made during their speech therapy that same morning came back to her and she chuckled to herself.

"What?" he asked, a smile twitching at his lips as he turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine.

"Nothing," she said, vainly trying to suppress her laughter.

He leaned across, pulled and secured her seat belt. "Sara," he said in a mild warning tone, "I know this giggle, and the cheeky glint in your eyes doesn't bode well. What is it now?" He checked his appearance in the mirror, his hand lifting to his mouth. "Have I got lipstick everywhere?"

"No. I was…" she gave her head a shake, "It's something Paula said this morning." He turned and held her stare questioningly and she lifted her shoulder, explaining a little diffidently, "She said that kissing was the perfect exercise to improve my mouth coordination. The _kissing muscles _she called them."

His brow rose and he laughed. "Well, in that case, I guess we'd better exercise them some more, hadn't we?"

* * *

><p>AN: Ansel Adams (1902 – 1984) is a famous American landscape photographer from San Francisco, California.

Oh, and if anybody wondered, the song they were listening to and discussing in the previous chapter was _Iris_ by the Goo Goo Dolls.


	42. Chapter 42

"We got ourselves a date."

Catherine paused. Then she frowned and lifted slow, confounded eyes toward the open door and the corridor beyond. She'd recognised the voice alright but hoped the comment was only a snippet of a conversation and not meant for her. She was wrong. Ecklie stood there, casually leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest and a wide smile on his face. He was watching her expectantly.

She and Warrick had only just returned from their crime scene and slowly she finished taking off the jacket she'd been half-way through removing and carefully placed it on the back of her office chair. "What, you and me?" she replied, aiming for a nonchalant response but failing miserably. Repressing a shudder at the thought she plastered a perfunctory smile on her face before turning back toward him.

Ecklie's smile had broadened and she scrunched her face in anticipation of his answer. "No," he said in a chuckle, his shoulder lifting, "I'm talking about the fundraising event – for Sara."

"Oh." She gave her head a shake and him a bright smile. "Got me going there for a minute, Conrad." Her expression darkened slightly and she glanced past him toward the corridor, making sure no one was within earshot. "Good," she replied. "I'll get in touch with Sam and see what I can wangle out of him."

"All right. Well, I've checked with everyone that would need to be involved and August the 16th is fine."

Her brow arched with surprise. "August the 16th?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes," he confirmed a little uncertainly. "Sara was quite precise on the date."

"Not the 17th?"

Ecklie gave a definite headshake. "No. The 16th. It's a Wednesday, I checked. As I said she was quite specific." He pushed off the door, stepping into her office fully and closing the door. "I understand it's Grissom's birthday."

Catherine was looking confused. "You can't have heard her right, Conrad. His birthday's on the 17th."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." His eyes were probing and she laughed. "Of course I'm sure, Conrad. I've known Grissom over fifteen years."

Ecklie let out a long breath of bafflement. "She was so sure," he lamented sadly, his tone showing genuine disappointment for Sara, and she lifted a helpless shoulder.

"Well, either she's a day out or you misunderstood what she said. Her speech-"

"No, she definitely said the 16th," Ecklie insisted. Then he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "You know, I don't think she made a mistake." He waved his hand about his face. "She had this look about her, like there was more to it than she was letting on. Maybe she wants to keep the night of the 17th free for the two of them."

Catherine's head tilted to the side, her face pursing in thought, unconvinced. "Let's not book anything until I've checked it out with her, alright?" she said finally. "Make sure we're not getting our wires crossed."

"No, it's okay," he said with an easy smile. "I'll do it. I'll liaise with her."

This sudden, rather uncharacteristic but seemingly genuine friendliness gave Catherine pause. "Okay." She gave him a nod and a soft, almost surprised smile in return. "August doesn't give us a lot of time to get this show on the road though, so let me know as soon as you know and I'll speak with Sam."

Ecklie nodded. Then he smiled and turned, opening the door and leaving with one last nod of his head over his shoulder. Catherine could only watch him go with a perplexed frown on her face. Such a turnabout, she thought, the man was almost decent. She sighed and let her thoughts wander to Sara and her remarkable recovery and what would hopefully be a great birthday for Grissom. Then she laughed to herself as she wondered how their date had gone.

"There's only one way to know," she told herself, her smile growing.

His office door was open. He was sitting behind his desk, his head propped on his hand with his elbow on the desk. The dreamy smile on his lips gave her pause and she stopped in the doorway and watched him. His laptop was open in front of him, a camera attached to it. Crime scene photos, she figured. His body was at work but clearly his mind wasn't, and she knew exactly where it was.

Hearing voices behind her she knocked her elbow against his door. "Gil?"

He was staring straight ahead and he made no reply.

"Gil?" she called again.

He startled, his propped-up head almost falling out of his hand. "Catherine. Sorry." He gave his head a shake, his smile still pleasant but losing its dreamy edge. "What can I do for you?"

She stepped in, gently pushing the door shut with her foot after her. "Sorry I had to call you in," she said, carefully setting the two coffee cups she was holding on his desk. She pushed one toward him and picked up hers, taking a seat across from him.

"Don't worry," he said, giving her a nod of thanks for the coffee. He picked up the cup and immediately brought it to his lips. "I needed this," he said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she smiled. Her eyes averted to his desk, and now that she was able to take a closer look she realised the camera plugged into the laptop wasn't the standard lab-issued camera. "Are these the crime scene photos from the arson case?" she asked, bringing the cup to her mouth. Her eyes stayed on him, watching for his reply, while she blew on her coffee.

His free hand shot up, snapping the laptop shut. "No. Nick's got these."

His reaction gave her pause. She took a slow sip of her coffee, and then another, waiting for him to elucidate and when he didn't she said, "So, how did it go?"

"Fine," he said, "It's a straightforward case. By the time I got there Nick had done all the hard graft anyway."

She laughed. "No, I meant your date with Sara, how did it go?"

"Oh." He took in a breath, his wistful smile returning. "I don't know," he said, pursing his mouth uncertainly.

"You don't know?" she repeated. "That's all I get?" His shoulder lifted. "How do you mean you don't know?"

He shrugged again. "Just that." He sighed. "I took her to Mount Charleston and we took some photos. We had fun." His expression became thoughtful and he paused suddenly. Then he sighed and refocused his gaze. "Catherine, do you think I'm quirky?"

Her mouth opened at the change of direction but no sounds came out.

He sighed again. "I guess I got my reply."

"I don't think you're _quirky _per se," she said at last, "but I guess one could say you have quirky habits." His face dropped. "Quirky's good, Gil," she said warmly. "It's endearing." She paused. "Where does this come from anyway? You don't care about what people think. Did Sara say something to you?"

His shrug and slight pout were answer enough. "She's as hard to fathom now as she was before," he said musingly.

Catherine burst out laughing. "She's a woman. What do you expect?" She sobered up quickly at his darkened expression. "What happened? You had it all planned out. Didn't it go well?"

"Sure, it went well."

She fixed him with a hard stare. He was so infuriating sometimes, and if she could shake some sense into him she would. "Grissom," she said through gritted teeth, "did you or did you not have a good time?"

He laughed. "I had the best time."

Her gaze became puzzled, then it dawned on her. "And you don't think Sara had a good time? Did she say something that would suggest…"

"No. She made all the right noises ―I mean, said all the right things."

Catherine stifled her amused smile. "But…" she prompted when he faltered.

"She's had her hair cut," he said earnestly. "Short. Very short. Gamine, she called it."

Catherine had known about the radical haircut, Greg had let it slip so she wasn't surprised, but she was struggling to keep up with Grissom's thought process. "And you don't like it."

"Oh, no, I like it." He got a faraway look in his eyes and smiled. "I like it. It's just…"

"It's just what?" she prompted when again he fell silent.

He refocused, and his smile became wistful, his mood changing suddenly. "I find myself reaching out to it, you know? To push it away from her eyes?" He shrugged. "I reach out to it but it's not there anymore."

Catherine's eyes mirrored his sadness as she realised that he was pinning for the old Sara. "And you're finding it hard to cope with the changes?"

He stared at her at length and then he flicked his eyes downward, nodding his reply.

"Gil, it's not about the new haircut, is it?"

He shook his head and looked away, sighing as he pushed up to his feet. He walked over to the shelves and picked up a jar which he pretended to study at length. Catherine remained where she was, content to just wait and see if he would open up fully. He was still trying to deal with his loss, grieving over the old Sara and being at work with all its reminders of what would be no more couldn't be easy for him.

"She was forward," he said finally, putting the jar back on the shelf. He whipped round toward her, meeting her eye dead on. "On our date, she was forward. More forward than what I was expecting." He sighed, then smiled and shook his head. His hand came up and he rubbed his face. "I don't know what I was expecting," he said at last. "I mean I never thought we would, that we could…I'd resigned myself to the fact that…" he sighed and swallowed, "that…"

And then she knew; she knew exactly what he was talking about. "That the sexual part of your relationship with Sara had died with her accident," she finished for him.

His gaze snapped up. There was fear in his eyes, fear and confusion, and then embarrassment. He clenched them shut and shook his head, and she knew he was doing what he did best, retracting upon himself. "I'm sorry, Cath," he said in a quiet whisper. "I don't know what came over me. I don't generally…Me telling you all this, it's…it's embarrassing." He tried a smile that didn't fool her. "I'll work through it."

"You'll overthink it."

"I'm just tired."

"Yeah, that too." He did look tired though and she realised she'd made a mistake calling him in to work that night. "When's the last time you slept?"

"Day before yesterday," he replied, resuming his seat behind the desk and giving his face and eyes a weary rub.

"Have you had something to eat?" she asked.

He picked up the cup, raised it toward her before taking a long gulp, sadly indicating what she feared, and flashed her a quick smile. "I'm okay."

She paused and stared at him, seeing his lie for what it was. There was so much going on in his life at the moment, so much to juggle, and any offers of help were sadly rejected. She knew seeing a therapist wasn't what he wanted, but he needed help working through his feelings so she asked him again. "Have you given any more thoughts to going to see a therapist?"

"Catherine, I'm fine. I shouldn't have said anything. You caught me a bad time. You've got enough on your plate without me adding―"

"Nonsense," she snapped, and checked her tone. If he wasn't prepared to see a therapist then that only left her. "You're telling me all of this because I'm your friend and I understand what you're going through. Well, you could always try Brass." The fearful look he threw her made her smile. "So that only leaves dear old me."

He let out a long weary breath but he wasn't telling her to mind her own business so she persevered.

Her face softened with affection. "Have your feelings for Sara changed?" she asked bluntly, hoping to shock him into opening up. And boy, did it work.

His head whipped up, his eyes wide with outrage. "No, of course not," he said vehemently, "How can you sit there and ask me that! She's so brave, so..." the words left him and he sighed. "I don't know if it's possible to love someone as much as I love her."

Catherine recoiled slightly at the sharpness in his tone, her eyes glancing toward the door knowing that any passing person would be able to overhear.

"I ache, Catherine," he went on a little more quietly, "I ache to see her like this." His eyes shone with a film of tears and he swallowed. "Now or then, it doesn't make a difference, I love her all the same." He caught himself and stared at her with disbelief, and wiping a trembling hand to the corner of his mouth turned away.

"Have you told her that?" she asked softly.

His hand moved to his eyes and he rubbed at them wearily. "Sara knows I love her," he said, mirroring her tone.

"Sara knows you love the old Sara, but she has changed. She is changing, becoming a new person, a different person."

He turned back toward her. "Catherine, you're missing the point. To me she's still Sara. She's still the same."

She gave him an indulgent smile. God, she wanted to shake him; he was so slow sometimes. But he was learning and with a little help and prompting he'd soon get there. "Why do you think she's had her hair cut?" she then asked, keeping an even tone.

He gave his head a puzzled shake at her change of tack and touched his right hand to his head, where Sara's scar and patch of shorter hair was. "Because she felt self-conscious, I guess. She didn't want people to see―"

Catherine shook her head very slowly, cutting his reply short. "No, Gil, that's not the real reason why Sara had her hair cut. Can't you see?" His eyes had narrowed uncertainly and she paused, giving him time to process her words. She chose them with care. "Sara has had a life-changing accident. It has changed her, like it has changed you. But it's also changed her outlook on life and on what she wants from it, and on how she goes about getting it. But she's still a woman, Gil, a woman with feelings, a woman with needs. A woman who doesn't want to let what's happened to her make her a half-woman."

"I get all that Catherine," he said finally, "I'm not _that_ clueless. It just took me by surprise, that's all."

"How did you react?" she asked with interest.

The dark, narrowed look he threw her made her smile, telling her all she needed to know.

"Well, that's good," she said, pinching her lips and embarrassed, he turned away. She shrugged. "You know her better than anyone, Gil. Better than she knows herself right now. Let her take the initiative and move things along at her own pace. If she's ready for more - when she's ready for more - then be prepared. If anything her being more…forward shows she's growing in confidence and coming to terms with the changes in her life, and within herself. You need to do the same. Just follow her lead."

He was looking down, his gaze distant and melancholy. When he didn't respond she realised he had switched off her completely. He stared at the laptop for the longest of times before suddenly refocusing bright eyes onto her. "You're right," he said and Catherine frowned in puzzlement. His face lit up with the widest of smiles. "And I know exactly what to do about it." He pinched his lips and gave her a giddy waggle of his brow. "It is time, Catherine, you're right."

"I am?"

"Thank you."

After all these years he was still an enigma to her. She shrugged and gave him a bright smile. "Glad I could be of help." She watched him for a moment while he downed the remnant of his coffee. "Did you tell her about the house?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't."

"Gil, she needs to know!"

"I know. And I will tell her, soon."

"Have you called the number I gave you?"

He shook his head again. "Not yet, but…I'm doing it today."

She gave him a pleading look but the sharp knock on the door cut her retort short. The door opened and Grissom's gaze moved to it. Catherine turned just as Hodges was popping his head in. She rolled her eyes; talk about timing.

"Sorry to cut in," the tech said quickly, giddily, as though he'd just discovered the cure for grey hair. He waggled his brow. "But the eagle has just landed. Quite literally," he added, chuckling to himself.

Grissom smiled and nodded. "Thank you, David. I'll be along in a minute."

Hodges registered an intense look of surprise. "Oh, Okay." His eyes flicked from Grissom to Catherine hesitantly and then back to Grissom. He was about to speak again when Catherine arched her brow meaningfully. Wisely, he closed his mouth and gave them an awkward smile before turning on his heels, quietly closing the door after him.

Catherine got to her feet. "You go home, Gil. Get some rest. I'll deal with Hodges' eagle." She pinched her lips, suppressing her smile. "Eagle, ego, get it?"

His grin was wide, amused. "I get it." He gave his head a shake. "I'll...take care of Hodges'...ego. I need the guy in one piece."

She pulled a face at him and he winked, then searching for his glasses on the desk pushed to his feet and moved to the door. He opened it, paused and turned. He had that thoughtful look on his face, one she didn't like much. "Catherine, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How did you know about…Sara's haircut?"

Her eyes lowered. "Greg told us." She looked back up. "He was so excited, Gil. Said she looked like…"

"He's seen her? When?"

"He hasn't. Sara sent him a photo of her – on the phone."

"But Sara doesn't have a phone."

Catherine shrugged, and he pulled a bemused face. She smiled. "Go easy on him. He's the closest to a girlfriend she's got."

He gave a hearty laugh. "I'll tell her you said that." He gave his head a shake. "Thanks for the coffee, and the chat, and the laughs," he added as an afterthought.

"Anytime," she said but he was already half-way down the corridor by then.

Her eyes lowered and she turned back to his desk to collect the dirty cups. The laptop lying there inviting, unattended, caught her eye. She tapped her fingers on the desk, glanced over her shoulder at the open door, then back down at the laptop. She'd just take a peek. It wasn't snooping, she told herself; after all if he was conducting private business on the taxpayers' dollar she needed to know.

Her eyes steadfast on the door she walked round his desk and opened the laptop. The screen was blank and quickly she swiped her hand over the touchpad. If the screen remained blank she'd walk away. It didn't, so she didn't. Her eyes narrowed and she leaned down her face, staring at rows upon rows of thumbnail photographs. She checked the door again and moved the cursor over the first one, clicking on it. The photograph that filled up the screen was stunning, the contrast between the deep blue of the sky and the red of the mountainous desert spreading below jaw-dropping.

She checked the date; the pictures were stamped the previous day and instinctively she knew Grissom hadn't taken the shots. How was it possible? Without thinking she sat down on Grissom's chair and set up a slideshow, and watched, mesmerised, as the images sliding past on the screen began to tell a story.

"These are good," she said out loud and a wicked idea began to take shape in her mind.

Hearing voices approaching she flicked her eyes to the door but they went past Grissom's office. She blew a breath of relief and looked back down to the laptop. All she needed to do was to make copies of the files, without his knowing of course, et voilà. But she didn't have time now. Her face lit up as she thought of the perfect plan and the perfect man to execute it. Quickly, she brought up the original screen and snapped the lid shut just as Grissom had done.

Her eyes were wide; her whole body was tingling with excitement. She couldn't wait!


	43. Chapter 43

"Sara, what are you doing?"

Sara startled and then felt relief fill her that at last she'd been found. Close to tears she had both arms wrapped over the sliding table as tightly as she could, holding on for dear life so she wouldn't crumple in a heap on the floor, afraid to move lest any sudden shift in weight or balance would cause the table to topple over. Sadly, her ability to think these things through was still intact even if her body was letting her down.

Her grip was slipping, her badly thought-out and desperate attempt at escapade leaving her weak and spent. She'd been stuck in that position for what felt like an hour when in fact it was probably no longer than a minute, unable to move either way to pull herself fully back up onto the bed or drop down to the floor. She wasn't in any physical pain, but the mental pain of knowing how pathetic and helpless she was was far worse.

Her date with Grissom had left her elated and her mind and body tingling with renewed hope and excitement. She had lain bright-eyed for most of the night, replaying their afternoon over and over again in her head, rejoicing at the fact that he hadn't shied away from her clumsy advances. Knowing he still loved her, the whole of her, unreservedly, should have been enough, and yet it wasn't. Somehow it made everything worse, highlighting all that was missing in her life, all that would be missing if her condition didn't improve.

It was only when fed-up the night nurse had plugged her iPod in her ears that she'd finally succumbed, the music momentarily taking her mind off her fears and into dreams. And yet she'd awakened to overwhelming dreariness and anxiety. She'd felt inadequate, impatient with the slow progress of her recovery and frustrated by the limitations imposed on her by her body. How could she hope to lead a normal existence when she couldn't even get herself out of bed, onto her chair and to the bathroom?

And to the bathroom she'd needed to go. The right bedrail had been left in the down position and at first she didn't think anything of it. It wasn't the first time it had happened and the risks of her simply rolling out of bed were slim. _If only_, she'd thought with a mocking laugh, and then, _why not?_ She'd turned her head toward the wheelchair waiting like a faithful companion by the side of the bed. Her brow had arched as she'd thought of the practicalities. Her plan was simple, dangerous maybe, but simple nonetheless and one she was determined to see through at all costs.

That was then. Now as she clung to the table it didn't seem such a good plan after all. She turned her head over her shoulder to Monique's stricken face. Of all the nurses and aides on shift that morning it had to be Monique. Monique was her favourite nurse. In her fifties she was short and squat and as black as ebony but she had kind eyes and a kind face and a no-nonsense take-no-prisoners attitude that Sara looked up to. She didn't want Monique today. Anger and a telling-off, she could cope with, but not the look of disappointment and betrayal she was sure to find in the kind nurse's eyes.

It took a second for Monique to put down what she was carrying and reach Sara's side, clamping a strong hand under Sara's left shoulder, supporting her weight. Sara let go of the sliding table and Monique gently lifted her back into a sitting position onto the bed, with her legs dangling over the side. When she felt she was steady Sara swallowed and made herself look up to Monique's face, meeting the woman's disappointed glare with pained eyes.

"I had to try," she said in a quiet, apologetic whisper. "I'm sorry, Monique, but I had no choice. I had to try. I've got to do something." Tears filled her eyes and her face scrunched up in anger at her lack of self-control.

Monique's face fell and she reached up a hand, giving Sara's shoulder a warm rub. "Oh, Sara, sweetheart," she said, her voice soft with compassion, "we've talked about this."

"Nothing's happening," Sara said.

"It isn't happening?" Monique asked knowingly, keeping her voice soft and gentle, "Or it's not happening fast enough for you?" She sighed, and slowly began easing Sara fully back onto the bed. Sara resisted and Monique let up. "Sara, please," she implored. "This isn't the way to do it."

"We've tried everything, and nothing's worked."

"Sara…"

Stubborn, Sara turned her face away, her eyes landing on the damn wheelchair still waiting next to the bed. It was so close she could almost touch it, and yet so unattainable. Her jaw clenched.

"I want to be able to go for walks," she said, stubborn, her voice almost tantrum-like.

"You can."

Her eyes refocused on the nurse, hard, determined, suddenly angry and hateful. "I don't want the frigging chair anymore," she said through clenched teeth. "I want to be free, independent, and not in a wheelchair for the rest of my life! Don't you get it?"

"You might have to, Sara," Monique said in a despondent sigh, and paused. She watched Sara silently for a long moment, her eyes searching her face for the answers to the questions she wouldn't voice. Afraid of what she would see Sara turned away.

"Is this to do with your date yesterday?" the nurse asked at last. "Do you want me to call Mr Grissom?"

A sulky "No," came out of Sara's mouth and she closed her eyes.

Monique gave out a long breath and tried pushing Sara back onto the bed again. "Sara, honey…"

But Sara had had enough. She'd had a half-chance that she hadn't been able to seize. _Then what are you waiting for?_ a little voice whispered, _Try again_and so she did. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and launched her upper body forward, causing her lower half to slide down off the edge of the bed right in front of Monique. Gravity would do the rest, she figured. Sara didn't know what to expect; she didn't know whether her legs would straighten by themselves and hold her weight or simply buckle under her. Would she even know it when her feet touched the ground?

It all happened in slow motion. Monique's eyes widened in shock and disbelief but it took the nurse less than a second to react. Quickly she grabbed Sara's sides, clamping vice-like hands around her torso and under her armpits, keeping her upright. Then she shifted Sara onto her, repositioning herself so that she bore all of the weight before Sara's legs completely gave way under her. She was breathing in Sara's face with the effort and Sara could smell coffee on her breath. Oh, what she would give for a cup of Greg's coffee, she thought, and frowned and smiled at how random her recollections were.

"You're lucky I'm a big woman," Monique said in a small grunt as she tightened her hold on Sara, "and not a waif, like Maria."

"Ouch," Sara cried as her feet touched the ground.

"Ouch? _Ouch_?" Monique exclaimed angrily. "That's all you got to say for yourself! You're lucky I caught you at all, my girl!" She sighed and shifted position, sliding her arms fully under Sara's shoulders until she could half-lift half-push her back onto the bed. And she wasn't soft and gentle about it. Fully compliant now Sara didn't resist and let herself be manipulated into a lying position onto the propped-up bed.

Monique had had a fright; there was no question about it. She fixed Sara with a hard stare and Sara could only stare back at her with bewilderment. "I'm sorry I hurt you," she said, and she looked it too. "But you left me no choice."

"You didn't," Sara replied.

Monique frowned, her gaze suddenly turning fearful. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell then?" She began checking Sara for outward signs of injury. "Sara, I need you to tell me. Did you hurt yourself?"

"I don't think so."

"You said 'ouch', where did it hurt?"

Sara gave her head a shake. Then she swallowed and tried moving her right foot. She'd felt something there, she knew she had.

Monique's face scrunched up with worry and she redirected her attention to Sara's bare legs, quickly feeling her hands all around them up and down their length, and Sara knew that she was checking for a break that she wouldn't even be feeling. "What you just did, it's…it was stupid! Your legs can't support your weight, you know that!"

"My foot. I felt something under my foot."

Monique paused and stared hard at Sara, and Sara could see doubt and disbelief in the nurse's face.

"I _felt_ something," Sara insisted, certain that what she had felt hadn't been a figment of her imagination, "under my foot. It was like I stepped onto something sharp, like when you have stones in your shoe."

Monique leaned over, inspecting the soles of Sara's feet. "There's nothing there," she said, lifting each foot in turn and checking between the toes. "No cuts or abrasions that I can see." She looked up, meeting Sara's gaze. Sara saw the change in the nurse's face, worry and concern slowly making way to anger now that she knew Sara wasn't injured. Monique's eyes narrowed to slits. "What were you _thinking_?" she snapped.

Sara felt another strong sense of déjà-vu, visions and words triggered in her mind she'd come to realise were memories from her past. Jim's voice filled her mind and she gave her head a shake, refocusing on the present. "I needed a pee," she said in a low voice.

Monique's eyes flicked off Sara's face, checking the bed sheets and Sara's clothes for wetness.

"I'm okay. No accident," Sara sing-sang humourlessly, adding under her breath, "Not this time."

Monique sighed and Sara could see disappointment return in the nurse's expression and demeanour. "That's why you have a call button, Sara," she said in a sad voice. "So we can bring you the bedpan."

"I don't want the bedpan."

"Did you think you'd float to the bathroom?"

"I thought I could get myself on the chair," Sara almost snapped back but bit her tongue. She could already hear Monique's wry, "And then what, huh?"

"Sara you could have fallen, injured yourself," Monique said, softer now. "Or worse you could have hit your head and lost consciousness. And then what?"

Sara's mouth set in a thin line. "I didn't."

"Only because I came in when I did! Why would you choose to take a reckless risk like that, huh? Why would you jeopardize your health and recovery?" She took a breath and let it out slowly. "Sara, we need to be able to trust you. We need to know that when we leave you alone you're not going to take your life into your own hands."

"I was hardly doing that," Sara muttered tersely.

Monique spread her hands in a powerless gesture. "Sara, you don't seem to realise the potential consequences of what you did!"

"Nothing happened."

The nurse took an overly deep breath, and Sara knew she'd managed to rile a normally unflappable woman. "No. Not this time," Monique said deliberately slowly. "But what about the next? What if I'm not here to catch you then, huh?" She let out a short breath and paused. "Is there going to be a next time?"

Sara shook her head. "No. I'm sorry." She looked up at Monique. "But I felt something. I know I did."

Monique held Sara's gaze for a long moment. Then she made a face and sighed, stepping back as her eyes moved to the floor, scanning near the bed. Frowning she bent down and when she came back up her brow had a deep crease to it. Sara's eyes slid down to the silver Parker ball pen Monique was holding in her hand.

"It's Gil's," she said, smiling for the first time that day. Her eyes lifted to the folded newspaper on the tray. "He uses it to do the crosswords."

"Must have fallen off the tray when you leant on it," the nurse said musingly.

Sara was smiling so hard her face hurt. "I felt it," she said again, "I know I did."

Monique sighed, and Sara could still read disbelief in her expression. "Did you _feel_ it?" she asked, "Or thought you felt it because you knew the pen was there?"

"I _felt_ it," Sara repeated firmly, then burst out laughing. "I felt it," she said again, repeating the three words over and over again until her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Monique, what does it mean?"

"I don't know," the nurse said in a sigh, "I really don't know. Sara, sweetie, I don't want you getting your hopes up, alright?" She moved to the end of the bed and scraped the pen over the sole of Sara's left foot. You could tell in her actions, in the way her head was shaking that she didn't believe there would be a reaction.

Sara felt nothing. "Other foot," she said.

Monique did the same to Sara's right foot without any more conviction that she'd shown for the left one. Sara felt a light tickle and saw her foot twitch slightly. She smiled and looked up at Monique who was watching her. Her face displayed incredulity still, but she was grinning. She'd seen it too, and Sara closed her eyes at the wave of relief that flooded her.

Sara reopened her eyes and staring at her feet desperately tried to wiggle the whole of her right foot, and then just the toes, but she couldn't. It didn't matter though; control would come later. It was happening, and that's all she needed to know. It was exactly how it had happened with her hands, sensations to her right hand first and then her arm, followed by movement – albeit limited at first – with her left hand slowly following suit. And now it was her legs' turn. Sara was finding it hard to breathe.

The nurse ran the pen under Sara's left foot again, which still showed no reaction and then under the right one – again, the same small spasm-like twitching. "We'll have to do more tests," she said carefully, but she couldn't hide the excitement in her voice.

Sara looked up; the nurse was biting her bottom lip trying her best to suppress her grin. "It's happening," she said, tears coursing down her face. She lifted her hand to her face, bumping into her glasses as she wiped at her eyes. "It's happening."

"It looks like it, girl," Monique said, her eyes shining as she set the pen on the table, "But we got to run all the proper tests before we get carried away, alright?"

Sara's nod was brisk and as elated as her grin.

"Just when I'd brought a surprise for you," Monique said in an overdramatic sigh, "but I can't give it you now, it wouldn't have the effect I was after…" she let her words trail mysteriously and Sara frowned, refocusing confounded eyes onto the nurse. Monique nodded toward the door and Sara turned her head, noticing for the first time the wheelchair sitting there. It was a motorised one with a battery pack underneath and a joystick on the right armrest to drive it. Sara swallowed and thought about what it meant – freedom, independence, dignity. Tears rose up again, prickling the back of her eyes.

"I need to pee," she said suddenly, laughing with disbelief. "I can't hold on any longer. It's going to have to be the pan."

Monique burst out laughing, then gave her head a slow shake of disbelief and wordlessly helped Sara with the bedpan. She cleaned her up before making her way to the adjoining bathroom to empty the pan. Sara heard the flush and water running, and watched as Monique came back, carrying a bowl of warm water and her wash bag, which she set down on the sliding table. Then she moved to the door, retrieving from the seat of the wheelchair a small tray Sara recognised all too well; a daily ritual of pills and injections she was well used to by now, which she took without struggle.

"What are you doing?" Sara said, as afterwards Monique set about peeling off Sara's T-shirt.

"I'm going to sponge-bath you."

"But that's not your job."

Monique's face lit up with a wry smile. "That used to be a nurse's job when I started all those years ago. I miss it."

Monique opened Sara's wash kit, took out her toothbrush and put a pea-sized blob of toothpaste on it. Then she smiled and said to open wide and when she began the slow and gentle brushing of Sara's teeth the feeling of inadequacy and helplessness returned. Sara closed her eyes and shook it off, willing, wishing for no more dark thoughts that day. Rinsing her mouth after brushing was messy and a challenge but every single day she got a little better at it, spitting out more toothpaste and water than she swallowed.

Next the glasses came off and Monique began washing Sara's face and neck before moving to her shoulders and chest. The water was warm on her skin, the steady circles as Monique washed her soft and soothing.

"Did he like the new hair?" the nurse casually asked as she washed Sara's back. She caught Sara's eye and smiled the knowing smile of a woman who had seen it all before.

"I hope so," Sara said in a whisper, her gaze melancholy. "I really hope so."

Monique gave a worldly nod and a smile that told Sara to keep the faith.

"Thank you," Sara said when Monique began patting her dry, "for everything."

The nurse paused, glancing at Sara out of the corner of her eye. "You're welcome, sweetie. No more silly stunts, alright?"

"I promise."

"Come on," Monique then said as she dried her hands, "It's time I got you ready for the day's therapies, or there'll be hell to pay."

"You're not going to tell?"

"Tell what?" She smiled. "This one's between you and me."

Sara was almost dressed when there was a soft knock at the door. Neither woman acknowledged it since it was protocol for staff to knock before they entered and at this time of the day nurses, aides and therapists came and went like it was Grand Central station. This time however no one came in and on hearing a second, louder knock, Monique paused. "Who is it?" she asked.

"It's Matthew," a voice on the other side of the door said, "Matthew Sidle…"

Sara tensed up. "My brother," she whispered.

"…I'm Sara's brother…"

"Shit!" she muttered, looking down at herself still in bed. "What does he want?"

"…I need to see her…"

Sara shook her head.

"…I'm going back to Baltimore and I…I―"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but it's not possible," Monique told him. "Sara's not ready for visitors."

"I understand it's not a convenient time," Matthew replied, "but my flight leaves at noon and it wouldn't take long… Sara, please, I need to talk to you."

Sara paused, caught Monique's eye and nodded her head. "It's okay," she said, "But can you help me into the chair first?"

Monique's face lit up with a teasing smile. "It's going to have to be the old chair I'm afraid, until you've had training." Then to Matthew, "Can you give us ten minutes? If you go and wait at the reception desk and I'll come and get you as soon as she's ready."

"Thank you," Matthew said, "I will."

Monique finished dressing her while Sara's eyes remained staring at the door for a long moment. What could have precipitated her brother's departure and this visit to her, she wondered? He'd come to say goodbye, that much was clear, something he'd never done when they were kids and she had needed him to. Instinctively Sara knew from his tone that he had come to say more than just goodbye though, and she sighed. There were so many things she still didn't know about him, still didn't understand, and was desperate to.

Was she about to find out the truth about her brother at long last?


	44. Chapter 44

"Mr Sidle?"

Matthew whipped round with a start and lowered his eyes to the short nurse standing in front of him. The way she was watching him as though she was appraising him made him feel self-conscious and uncomfortable and he wondered what Sara had been saying about him. His eyes scanned down her face to the ID clipped to the front pocket of her nurse's blouse and read, Monique Reyes, Senior Registered Nurse.

"Yes, that's me," he said, slowly bringing his eyes back up to her face. He didn't extend his hand or return the perfunctory smile.

"Sara is ready to see you now, but be aware that she is scheduled for speech and language therapy at nine."

"Thank you," he replied stiffly, "I shall be sure to be quick."

Monique gave a nod. "Follow me, please."

"I think I can find my own way, thank you," he said, turning over his shoulder to replace the brochure he'd been reading.

"Very well," she replied coolly. "Sara's waiting for you in the Quad."

He turned back just in time to see the remnants of the woman's contemptuous smile. Without a word she dug her hands in her pockets, turning on her heels, and then stopped abruptly. She looked back over her shoulder at him before turning all the way. "Sir," she said, then paused and let out a breath. "I don't want you upsetting Sara, alright?"

A brow of disbelief rose. "Are you telling me how to be around my sister?"

"No," she said in a sigh. "I'm _asking_ you to put yourself in her shoes and consider what it's like to be her on a daily basis."

Matthew's eyes lowered and he didn't reply. When he looked back up the nurse was walking away. He closed his eyes and let out a weary breath. "Come on," he told himself, picking up the bag at his feet, "you can do this."

After asking at the reception desk for directions Matthew wound his way to the back of the building to a secluded green area outside. The place was shrouded in peace, almost as though time stood still there, reminding him of a cloister. A couple of medical staff stood talking in hushed whispers to his left, visibly enjoying their chat and cigarette. To his right an elderly man was walking up and down a path on crutches, helped along by an aide. Sara sat on her chair at the far end from where he stood, alone. She had her back to him and her face turned up toward the morning sun.

Over the years he'd thought about her a lot, wondered what she was doing, _how_ she was doing, but he'd never mustered the courage to find out. He was sure that if he'd put his mind to it, and especially since the advent of the internet, he could have located her and made contact. But that would have meant facing up to what he had done when he'd abandoned her and ultimately the fear of being rejected had been too great. And now there they were, two strangers who didn't understand one another one little bit.

He scratched the dark stubble on his face, took a breath and tightening his grip on the bag strode across the grassed area toward her. He'd come with a purpose and he hoped he'd be strong enough to carry it through. Actually, no, he thought sadly. What he hoped was that Sara could begin to forgive him. He sighed and stopped on reaching her, then moved round to the other side when he realised he was casting a shadow over her face. Her eyes were closed and the familiar downward curve of her smile made her look at peace with herself and her situation, a far cry from how he felt.

"Ello, Maffew," she said, reopening her eyes.

He felt a pang of sadness twist his heart at hearing her speak like that. "Hello, Sara," he replied. He flashed an uncomfortable smile and flicked his eyes down to the bag in his hands, unsure how best to start. "Your hair, it's…"

"Short," she said, and slowly brought a hand up to her nape. Her chin lifted. Her eyes held his defiantly as she straightened her shoulders and he suddenly he caught a glimpse of the little girl she once was, proud and rebellious; the only Sara he knew and remembered, and had loved very deeply; the free spirit that had borrowed his comics and records without asking; the Sara that had covered for him and hidden his pot when…when…he swallowed. His eyes filled. His lips pinched and he took a deep breath in through his nose.

"It suits you," he said finally and formed his lips into a warmer smile.

Her left eye twitched as she watched him and he realised that despite appearances she was wary of him, which after what he'd put her through wasn't surprising. She just was better at hiding it, he figured, feeling sad at the helplessness of their situation.

"How do you do it?" he asked suddenly, the words catching. He cleared his throat. "How do you keep going everyday?"

Her expression darkened. "Avnochoice," she said. "Alternative's―" she shook her head and turned away, letting her words trail and he was sorry he'd asked.

"I came by yesterday," he said at a loss as to where to go from there, and realising it sounded like a reproach regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.

The defiant look returned. "Wasout wivGil."

"I know," he said with a smile. "I didn't realise you were allowed out." And again, the wrong words left his lips.

She fixed his with a hard stare. "Dis isn't prison, Maffew."

"I'm sorry," he said in a sigh, "I didn't mean to imply it was." He swiped his hand down his face. "Listen, Sara, can we start over, please? It's just that…I don't know how to be around you."

After a while Sara's shoulder lifted and he took that as assent. "Jusbe yourself," she said, followed by something he didn't make out. She was talking quietly and he frowned, finding himself unconsciously leaning in toward her to make out what she was saying. She nodded toward the bench. "Sit down, thenyou donavtolook atme."

He closed his eyes and shook his head at how little she thought of him. "Did you go somewhere nice?" he said, taking a seat on the bench and setting the bag down next to him. "With Gil."

He was trying too hard, he knew it, his tone all wrong and contrived. The smile that spread across her face on the mention of Grissom's name was as unexpected as it was needed. Taking heed of her advice he loosened the knot on his tie, stretched his legs out in front of him and for the first time allowed himself to relax in her presence. It was good they were in the fresh air rather than in her stuffy bedroom, a neutral ground he thought where he could start afresh with her, and he realised then that she was a step ahead of him and had chosen this location on purpose. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.

"We did," she said at last and he heard the happiness in her voice, "Wewent fordrive to the mountains."

It was strange, he thought as he kept his eyes turned toward the sky, that suddenly he understood her speech a lot more readily.

"They'rebeautiful," she was now saying. "Vyoubeen?"

Startling he opened his eyes and turned toward her. She was watching him closely. He smiled. "No. I haven't been. It's the first time I come to Nevada, but…" he laughed, "from the top of the Stratosphere Tower they look magnificent." She nodded her agreement. "Next time I come maybe we could…take a trip out there…all of us. To the mountains, I mean"

Sara's eyes narrowed and she swallowed before giving a cautious nod of the head. She smiled and looked down to her hands clasped together on her lap. "Wanna help you," she said, just as he was about to bring her up to date with the lawsuit. "Makefresh start."

He frowned. "You want to help _me_?"

"Avmoney," she said, "Av savings." His frown deepened with confusion. "Youcanav them – topay yourdebts," she added when dumbstruck he still hadn't spoken.

And as her words sank in the shame came. There she sat, crippled and a shadow of her former self with an uncertain future, and she was offering to pay off his gambling debts. "Did he put you up to this?" he asked.

"No," she said, and he heard the truth of her word in her tone.

"I don't need your money, Sara."

"Sure youdo."

"I don't want it."

"Whatbout yourdebts?"

He gave out an empty laugh. "I can take care of them."

"Gil said—"

"Sara stop," he said sharply, too sharply for she startled. He checked himself. "I know what Gil said. I can imagine what he said." He flicked his gaze to a passing couple in the distance and fought to keep his composure. "Contrary to what he thinks I didn't file the suit to get my hands on your money." His lips formed into a sad smile as tears came again. He turned away.

"Maffew?" she said in a whisper, and the way she said his name pierced right through his heart.

His mouth opened, then shut and opened again. "Sara…The reason I came today…" He wiped at his eyes and turned toward her, seeking her gaze. "I wanted to tell you face to face. As I said I'm going home and—I've…decided to drop the suit contesting the rights to your powers of attorney."

Sara's eyes drifted shut and she let out the longest breath. Tears filled her eyes and she scrunched them tighter shut, causing her tears to spill. She took a fraught breath, and then another before bringing a trembling left hand up to her mouth. Her relief was uncontained. "Fank you," she said in a whisper. More tears fell and she reopened her eyes, turning toward him. "Fank you."

Blinking back his own tears he shook his head sadly. "Don't, please. Don't thank me." He smiled and shrugged. "I should have never filed the suit without talking to you first and knowing all the facts. I was jealous and bitter, I guess, and angry. I thought that maybe that was what you wanted me to do. I know now that it isn't and that you are more than capable of making your own decisions."

Uncomfortable under her scrutiny he lowered his gaze to the ground, searching for the right word before looking up again. Her eyes were still intent on him, unbelieving and watching, and he gave her a small smile. "There's something else," he said in a sigh. "As you know I filed a second suit, which my attorney advised me not to drop."

Sara's stare became puzzled and probing. She swallowed.

"He strongly believes that there is a case to be fought and I agree. I'm happy to cover all the costs."

"Donunderstand," she said, bewildered.

He paused. "The second suit?" he said hesitantly. "Against the department?"

It took a moment for his words to filter through her understanding and when she spoke her answer came as one long and muddled word he didn't make out.

He frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Sara swallowed and cleared her throat. "You're – suing – the – department?"

"I am." His eyes narrowed uncertainly. "Didn't you know?"

Sara's eyes took on a distant turn and she gave her head a shake. "Why?" she asked.

Understanding suddenly dawned and he understood why she hadn't been told. His hand moved to hers on her lap and he squeezed it. "I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't know you hadn't been told."

Sara's narrowed gaze was fixed to a point on the floor in front of her, her lips were pinched. She didn't reply.

"Sara?" He dipped his head and watched her uncertainly for a moment while she processed what he'd told her and what it meant.

When she refocused her eyes were narrowed and dark, determined. "Tell me," she said.

He shook his head.

"Youowe - medat. Youowe metruth."

Matthew swallowed after a moment nodded his head. He did indeed owe her the truth, but felt he wasn't the right man to give it to her. "I think it would be better if he told you. I don't know all the details, Sara."

"Butyouknow – enough."

He sighed and nodded, then began to tell her what he knew about her attack and who had carried it out. He chose his words carefully, leaving out the names of the attackers, simply stating that two of them had died in the course of their arrests. He neglected to mention the fact that one of the brothers was still in the wind – and most importantly why. It wasn't his place to tell her about that.

He told her that the one who had masterminded the attack was known both to CSI and the Police but didn't go into any more detail than that, and that was why he was continuing with that lawsuit. He could see by the emotions reflected in her face as he spoke that she was filling the gaps in her mind with what he was telling her. She never asked any questions, or seemed upset at all; on the contrary she appeared relieved, almost appeased, to finally know.

"I'm sorry, Sara," he said when he'd finished, once again reaching for her hand, "I wish Grissom had told you."

She refocused a loving smile on him, and he knew who the love was directed to, and it wasn't him. "Eecouldn't" she said. "But eewill, when eethinks I'm ready toearit."

He nodded his understanding. "You're not angry at me? For what I've put you through?"

She pondered his reply. "No. Mangry atlot ofings, but not atyou."

He smiled sadly. "But you feel sorry for me."

"You do, me," she said simply, and he nodded because it was true.

His eyes lowered to her hands and to the ring that always adorned her finger. "You ring," he said, "you never take it off."

She looked down to her hand and straightened her fingers. "Smystrength," she said, "my strength and my future." She met his eye. "TwasGil's mother's."

For the first time he understood what Grissom was to her, and what she was to him. He looked at his own bare ring finger saying in a sigh, "I miss her. I miss them both. I thought that maybe if I could make it up to you, if I could show them that I could change and be a good man, a good father to Sarah, that…"

"That youcould win themback?"

He smiled and his eyes flicking down in embarrassment nodded his head. "Something like that."

"Snot asimple asdat."

"I know," he said, laughing with disbelief at the fact that she was giving him advice.

"Gil said youchose Sarah's name. Wasit because ofme?"

Matthew realised Grissom must have spoken with Vanessa to know about that, and he wondered what else she had told him. He didn't reply to Sara's question for a long time. Eventually he looked up and gave her a small nod. "She reminds me so much of you," he said. "When she was born she turned my world upside down. I'd made her, Sara; for the first time in my life I'd made something beautiful, a little girl that was mine to protect. She came out so quickly, all long limbs and a full head of dark hair."

"Justlikeme."

"Yeah," he said, laughing at the old family joke, "Just like you. She's got the same spirit, the same zest for life that you have – or you used to have anyway," his face darkened, his voice lowering as he added, "when we were young." His face lit up again and he met her eyes. "She doesn't look anything like you, now. She's the spitting image of Nessa." He paused suddenly. "You know, when you called me last year like that out of the blue, it freaked me out."

Interested, Sara cocked her head to the side. "Wedidn't – talk, did we?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I had my secretary say I was in a meeting, and when you didn't call back I pretended you'd never called in the first place." He paused. "Why did you call me?" he asked, suddenly interested.

She shrugged. "Donknow. Donmember." Her expression brightened up suddenly. "Dlike tomeet her – Sarah. Imean whenbetter."

He stared at her for a long moment while he deciphered her words. "I'd like that too," he said, smiling, "but…well, I hope it's not too late."

"Snever toolate, believe me. Justbe patient wivher. Listen," she then said, "bfore youleave. Avsomefing – foryou." She dipped her right hand under the shawl on her lap and removed a white envelope, which she held out to him.

His frown deepened. "What is it?" he asked, taking the envelope from her.

"Pictures," she said, and pasted a smile on her face, "yourpictures."

Silently he opened the envelope and pulled out the copies of the photographs he kept in his wallet that Grissom had made. He looked up, meeting her gaze. "You keep them," he said, sliding the photos back in the envelope and putting it on her lap, "I have others, at home. Oh, I almost forgot." He grabbed the bag and opened it, showing Sara its content. She frowned. "He lent it me so I wouldn't have to walk the streets of Vegas in my hospital gown," he explained. "I had the hotel dry clean it."

Sara nodded. Her eyes suddenly moved to a point beyond him and she smiled.

"I'm sorry, Sir," a woman said and he turned, "But it's time for Sara's therapy."

"It's alright," he said smiling pleasantly as he got to his feet, "We'd finished." He turned back toward Sara and smiled while they stared at each other awkwardly.

"Maffew, disis Paula," she said, "my speechferapist. Paula, mybrover, Maffew."

Matthew refocused on Paula and they exchanged brief pleasantries. Then he turned back toward Sara. "I'll call," he said brightly, "get some news."

"Dlike dat," she said.

His emotion made his nod come out stiff and a little formal. His eyes flicked to Paula hesitantly and he bent down awkwardly, pressing a quick kiss to Sara's cheek. He felt her arm move up to his shoulder and she pulled him a little tighter to her and he closed his eyes as he returned the clumsy embrace. She spoke something in his ear he couldn't quite make out but was sure sounded very much like, "Make good." They held each other for a little while longer before he pulled away and wiped a tear at the corner of his right eye.

"Youtake goodcare," she said, "andonworry boutme. Min - goodands."

Matthew's eyes flicked to the speech therapist and with a small parting smile he nodded, then turned his back and walked away. His heart felt heavy, leaving her to deal with her uncertain future once again, but this time he did so knowing that it was what she wanted. She'd made for herself a life in Vegas, and he realised that that was where her home was.

He heard the therapist ask Sara if she wanted to stay outside for their session. He never heard Sara's reply. He was making his way back indoors when he heard a distant cheer. He slowed and turned round. Paula had sat down on the bench next to Sara and the two women were laughing as they hugged.

"Oh, Sara, that's great news," drifted up to him, and he sighed. Little did he know that what had made Paula cheer had nothing to do with him and his decision to drop the suit but everything to do with Sara and her practically throwing herself out of bed.

He moved behind the cover of a Bougainvillea bush and watched the two women interact for a moment longer, the smile returning as he thought of how remarkable, strong and brave Sara was being in the face of adversity. She was tackling her problems head on when all he'd done all his life was run away from them. He checked his watch. His luggage sat in the rental in the lot, his plane ticket was tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket with his passport and the photo of Sarah and Vanessa he carried everywhere with him.

It was time he too was home.


	45. Chapter 45

Grissom's body hadn't yet passed the threshold of her room that Sara's excited greeting of "Owyou like my newheels?" filled the silence.

Her exhilaration filled his heart and it didn't take a genius to know that she'd been waiting to share her good news. He laughed and shook his head, then quietly shut the door after him and Hank. "Hello to you too, Sara dear."

A wide smile of pleasure dancing on her lips she bowed her head in greeting. He unclipped Hank's leash and watched fondly from the door as Sara greeted the boxer, making a big fuss of him. After a while she told Hank to sit and after giving himself a vigorous shake the boxer did as commanded.

"Look," she said proudly, and pushed her hand over the lever on the arm of the chair, covering half the distance to him before coming to an abrupt stop.

His proud grin matched hers perfectly. "I feared for when this day came," he said, feigning sorrow.

Her smile trembled. "Why?"

"How can I tell you this without risking…offending you?" he said with a straight face. He gave a wince but was unable to keep the pretence and the smile he'd tried to stifle escaped. Her face relaxed, her worry lines morphing into smiles and winking at her he closed the distance. Leaning in close to her ear he brushed his lips on her cheek and whispered, "You're not a very good driver." He felt her grin broaden against him and she batted him away.

"Selectric," she announced with pride.

His lips twitched with mischief. "Electric, huh?"

Making a face at his teasing she flicked her hand over the joystick, causing the chair to surge forward, gently bumping into his legs. Grissom jumped out of the way, then laughed and shook his head in disbelief. It was so good to see her in such good spirits. Grinning she lifted her hand to her face, her index finger tapping her cheek. "What, nokiss today?" she said.

With a purse of his mouth he leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek where her finger was but at the last moment she whipped her head round, causing his lips to land square on her mouth. Her hand came up to his face, pulling him closer as she gently deepened the kiss and it was with great pleasure that he returned the consideration. Sadly she pulled back from him all too soon.

"I got some good news," he said in a joyful whisper, staring into her bright eyes and returning her wide smile of anticipation with an excited one of his own. "Your brother's―"

"Dropping thesuit," she finished for him.

He lowered his hand and pulled back from her, feigning displeasure that she'd stolen his thunder. She shrugged innocently. "How do you know?" he asked with puzzlement. "John's only just called me to let me know and he'd only just heard himself."

Her smile clouded. "Maffew toldme. Eecame by. This morning. Ees onflight backto Baltimore."

It took a second for her words and all the potential implications of her brother's visit to filter through his understanding. His face softened with worry and he dropped down to his haunches in front of her. "Are you okay?" was all he could manage when his mind was swirling with a thousand and one questions.

Her expression was solemn as she stared back at him. It was like she was expecting him to speak when he was waiting for her, desperate as he was to know what Matthew had said. Her eyes averted briefly and she gave him a slow nod. He swallowed and watched her closely, searching her face for any signs of being upset, however well concealed they might be. She wasn't giving him anything.

"It's over, Sara," he said with relief in his voice, "over."

She nodded. Then a soft, wistful smile formed on her lips. "Ees goingto getis life back. Tryagain wivis family."

Grissom's gaze narrowed with surprise. "He told you that?"

"No," she said, "But…" she let her words trail off with a shrug and he nodded his understanding.

"I hope so too," he said, "I truly do." He paused and smiling reached out his hand to cup her face. "So," he said, mischief suddenly pulling at his lips as he nodded toward her chair, "what's the performance rating on this thing?" Her brow arched questioningly, and his shoulder lifted. "You know, how does it corner? What about nought to sixty, torque to ratio stats―how far until you run out of juice?"

"Afraid you might have to push?"

The smile playing round the edges of her mouth warmed his heart. "Not at all," he laughed, "on the contrary. I look forward to it."

"Fankyou," she said out of the blue.

His gaze narrowed. "Whatever for?"

"The chair," she replied, patting the arms with both hands.

Understanding dawned. "Don't thank me," he said softly. "It's all because of you and the hard work you put into your recovery. It was always in the cards, you know that. I merely pointed out to Dr Williamson how much more control you had over your hand." He shrugged. "I didn't think he'd act on it so soon, that's all."

A rogue smile pulled at her lips. "I promised I'dbe good, that I woudn't pullvanishing act onanyone."

"I bet you did," he said in a chuckle.

"Let's go forspin."

"A spin?" he said. He matched her definite nod with a bright smile. "Okay. The Quad?"

She shook her head. "The park."

He swallowed. "The park?" The reluctance was evident in his tone.

"Snot far. Just roundthecorner."

He knew which park she was talking about. He drove past it every time he came to visit. In fact he'd taken shelter there himself on more than one occasions when he had needed to clear his head, especially in the beginning of her coming to the Centre. The park was small and secluded, and most importantly not Desert Breeze Park. Still. His eyes narrowed. Why did she suddenly want to go to the park? Had she remembered something? Had speaking to her brother triggered a recollection, maybe? Was she hoping that by taking him there he'd open up to her about the details of her attack? Was he guilty of overthinking Sara's intentions again, as Catherine would gladly point out?

Then he remembered Dr Williamson's words when he'd first approached the doctor about taking Sara out of the Centre for a few hours. The crowds, the stares…He shook his head with the perfect excuse. "Oh, Sara, sweetheart, I'm not sure it's such a good idea. Dr Williamson―"

Her chin lifted defiantly. "Doctorliamson said twas okay."

His head tilted to the side, probing eyes mirroring his disbelief.

"Strue," she said. "Cancheckwivim. Saidtbe good forme togo outandsee theworld. Those were isexact words."

He sighed. "I don't know."

A look part-mischief, part-rebellion suddenly filled her eyes. "You can stayere," she stated positively, "and wait. Hank and I'llbeback in alfour."

At the mention of his name Hank sauntered over and placed his snout on Sara's lap. Grissom burst out in a quiet chuckle. "It's a conspiracy," he exclaimed and then more seriously, "Do you really mean this?"

She gave him a nod, humming her yes. "Gottastart some time. What's theworst thatcanappen?" she then asked, reading his reticence. "That peoplewill stare? ThatImight run outof juice?"

_And all the rest_, he thought sadly.

"Doctorliamson warnedme bout that," she went on resolutely, "Mprepared."

_Follow her lead_, Catherine had said, and so he did. His eyes softened with love and he nodded. "Very well. In that case…" He moved to the door, opened it and opened his hand out, showing her the way out. "Lay on Macduff."

Hank was out of the door in a flash and Grissom called him back so he could clip his lead back on. When he turned back to let Sara through she wore on her head a black ball cap that she seemed to have conjured up out of nowhere. His smile wavered and he swallowed the sudden tightening in his throat. She looked up from under the brim of the cap, grinning up at him but Grissom remained frozen with one hand on the handle and the other in mid-air, holding the lead. The CSI cap was askew and haphazardly placed over the top of her head rather than pulled down tight, but that was not what had stolen his breath.

"Gil?" she called, frowning with puzzlement. "Gil? Areyou okay?"

Grissom blinked and gave his head a shake, refocusing. Then he pasted a smile on his face. "Sure."

"Youlook likeyouvseen a ghost."

He could still see her as clear as day in the break room, the locker room, at crime scenes wearing that same cap. He could see her in their lounge, in her shorts and vest, a wide smile on her face and her ponytail sticking out at the back of it as she got ready to go for a run. He could see her on that afternoon, that fateful afternoon when he'd been too engrossed in the damn ball game to pay her any attention, as she'd kissed him goodbye, leaving happy and laughing with Hank in tow, never to be the same woman again. He fought to catch his breath and swallowed. He had to get over his shock or she would suspect and god, he wasn't ready to tell her.

Forcing a broader smile he let go of the handle and covered the distance back to her. "I have," he said quietly, and snatched the cap off her head, placing it square on his, "The ghost of my favourite cap. I've been looking for it everywhere."

Sara watched him uncertainly for a moment. "You leftit behind the otherday," she said with an easy shrug. "Didn't thinkitmattered. Msorry." The mischievous twinkle in her eyes returned. "Sucasa – micasa, no?"

He pursed his mouth, then burst out laughing and grudgingly replaced the cap on her head. "It is indeed."

Grissom turned away and swallowed back his grief. Then he opened the door, once more indicating that she should lead the way. And she did, proudly but moving far too fast for such a tight space and sadly coming to an abrupt stop when the front footrest of the chair bumped into the doorframe. He laughed and shook his head, biting back his comment about women driver, waiting for her to reverse and realign her wheels so she'd fit through the door but she didn't. She'd gone all still and quiet.

He told Hank to stay put and dropped the lead to the floor. "Sara?" he said, squeezing in the gap between the frame and the chair so he could see her face. "You okay?"

She looked up, bringing a faraway gaze to his face, and stared at him.

He moved directly in front of her and fell to his knees, checking her right foot and leg for injury. "Honey, did you hurt yourself?"

A soft smile formed on her lips and she shook her head. She opened her mouth to talk but so sound came. He watched with puzzlement as she looked down at her foot again and swallowed. After what seemed long puzzling seconds to him she flicked her gaze back up and gave him that new gorgeous smile of hers, the one that melted all his worries every single time. "You're right," she said, "Mnot verygood driver. Maybeshould get my learnerpermit first."

He pursed his mouth at her. "You're doing fine."

He straightened up and nodded for her to proceed. This time she negotiated the doorway without any glitches. She was holding herself a little taller and straighter in her chair as the three of them walked down the corridor to the reception area, the grin on her face speaking volume. Dr Williamson was talking to a couple at the reception desk and he caught their eye, smiling and nodding at Sara as they made their way outside. Her whole aura radiated pride and happiness, and he felt proud and happy to be by her side. There was a life out there to be lived, her manner said, and she was going to do her utmost to live it to the full and not let what had happened to her stop her. And he'd be there every step of the way.

As they proceeded down the pedestrian path through the parking lot he suddenly realised that he was more nervous about this little outing than he'd felt the previous day on their date. They were more exposed in the streets, less protected, but the few people they came across so far hadn't paid them the least bit of attention. Sara wasn't showing any signs of distress, on the contrary she was positively basking in the experience, and gradually the tension left him. The east entrance to the park was located one hundred yards or so down the same side of the road as the centre. The sidewalks were smooth, wide and free of people and obstacles. Once she got the hang of manoeuvring the chair Sara sped off at a cracking pace and he found himself lagging behind with Hank straining at the lead. He had to double his effort just to keep up with them.

"You know," he said a little breathlessly, as he finally reached her side, "the park isn't going anywhere."

Sara slowed down and cast him a sideways look under the brim of her cap. There was that playful grin again.

"What?" he chuckled. "I'm no spring chicken."

Her lips twitched with mischief but she bit back her retort, and it was at a slower pace that they turned into the park. Except for a few joggers, riders and mothers pushing strollers down the lanes the park was quiet and shaded under a canopy of Arizona ash trees. Without conferring they carried on down the path veering to the right along the perimeter hedge and after checking that it was safe to do so he took Hank off the lead, instructing him not to go wandering off.

He spotted a lone bench in the distance and was about to suggest they stopped there when he glimpsed at the woman strolling toward them. "Heather," he said in gasp, stopping in his tracks without realising.

Seeing her took him back to that night in the desert a few months previously and he glanced down at Sara, counting his blessings again at the second chance he'd been given with her. Sara had stopped too, and stared uncertainly at the woman closing the distance to them, unaware. This outing was a make or break situation for her, her first real test in the outside world and of all the people in this town, they had to bump into Heather. What was she doing in this park, in this part of town, at this time of day anyway?

Heather looked up suddenly, refocusing on the pair as though she'd felt their eyes on her. Her face went from confusion to surprise before a pleasant smile was plastered to it. Her eyes flicked from Grissom to Sara, and all he could think about was the fact that he'd never bothered returning her call of concern when she'd heard of Sara's attack. He gave her a soft smile.

"Gil, Sara, hello," she said as she stopped in front of them, "What a pleasant surprise."

There was an awkward second when speechless he could only stare back at her before he recovered his composure. He could feel Sara's eyes on him as she waited for introductions to be made and he suddenly remembered that she didn't know who Heather was, and that even if she did they had never met. He turned toward her and smiled. She looked more curious and puzzled than worried by the interruption, and he allowed himself to relax.

"Sara, this is Heather," he said warmly, "Heather Kessler. She's a friend of mine." He flicked his eyes to Heather. "Heather, this is Sara. Sara Sidle. My…lifelong partner."

Both women burst out laughing at his turn of phrase, dissipating whatever awkwardness he thought there would be between them and he pulled a face, opening his arms out in a helpless gesture. Heather's gaze refocused on Sara, her eyes zooming in on her left hand. Her face lit up with the cheekiest of smiles and she lifted bright eyes back up to him. "You dark horse," those eyes told him, "You kept _that_ quiet." The smile pulling at the corner of his lips was smug and very satisfied.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Sara," she said extending her hand.

Grissom tensed at the gesture, but he needn't have worried for Sara showed no trace of discomfort or unease. She looked relaxed, youthful and happy. Her smile widened and she lifted her hand off the joystick to Heather's outstretched hand. There was a pause and he could tell she was forming words in her head. His heartbeat quickened in trepidation of Heather's reaction at her speech.

"Eather," she said, "Nice tomeet youtoo." She paused and formed more words. "Fank you for thecard and flowers."

"You're very welcome," Heather replied, seemingly understanding Sara perfectly.

The smile dropped off his face, replaced by genuine bewilderment. What card and flowers? Had Heather made contact with Sara behind his back? And why hadn't Sara mentioned it? The crease on his brow was deep and puzzled, but he didn't ask. Not then anyway. Both women looked comfortable enough in each other's presence even if Heather looked tired. Her makeup was light, barely covering the gaunt and drawn face underneath; her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wore jeans and a hooded blue sweater, looking a far cry from the Dominatrix of old.

"How are you doing?" he asked her, showing genuine concern and warmth.

Her face darkened a little, her smile losing some of its shine as she refocused on him. "Better."

He gave her a nod, thinking how strong and courageous she was, wondering whether he would be doing 'better' had Sara died. He made a mental note to call her soon and try to be a better friend to her.

"I used to take Zoe for walks here when she was little," she said with a wistful smile. "We used to live just round the block."

At a loss for the right thing to say Grissom simply smiled. Hank chose this moment to make his presence known, sniffing around Heather's legs. Heather's face darkened and she took a step back, looking up and scanning the area beyond Grissom and Sara for the dog owner. He smiled.

"Dis Hank, ourdog," Sara said, stealing the words out of his mouth. "Ees armless."

Heather shot Grissom another narrowed look before giving her head a shake of disbelief. "Anyway," she said, "I must go. It was nice meeting you Sara. I look forward to the sixteenth." She met Grissom's eyes, giving him a parting nod, "Gil."

They said their goodbyes and both watched Heather's retreating back as she left. He was about to ask about what was happening on the sixteenth when Sara's next words floored him.

"She's anexgirlfriend ofyours?"

He snapped his head down with surprise but the teasing smile on her face assuaged his fears. He searched Hank with his eyes, then motioned with his head that they should walk on. "No," he replied as they once again settled into a nice rhythm, "Heather's…just a friend. We met through work actually, a few years back. She's―" He paused, unsure how best to introduce her profession.

Sara looked round toward him. "She's beautiful."

He stopped walking abruptly. Sara stopped too and swivelled the chair round so she faced him. His hands curled into loose fists by his side and he smiled a little uncertainly. "Some people don't approve of my friendship with her," he said, choosing his words with care.

Sara met his eyes dead on. "Cafrine?"

The corner of his mouth curled up in amusement. "She is _one_ of the people concerned, yes."

Sara's eyes averted past him toward where Heather had gone and she nodded. "Sin thepast." Her eyes flicked back up to his and grinning she stared at him meaningfully.

He gave her a nod of understanding and resumed walking. Sara followed suit. Something in the way she was looking at him told him she sensed his reluctance to talk about Heather. "Heather lost her daughter a few months ago," he said after a moment in silence, "A tragic, tragic case."

"She seems verynice, very strong," she said, and he was grateful when she didn't ask any more of the case details.

"She is."

She flicked her gaze back to him. The cheeky twinkle had returned in her eyes. "Lifelong partner, huh?"

He laughed. Movement ahead caught his eye. "Ice cream?" he asked, nodding toward an ice cream vendor.

Sara's face lit up. She followed his gaze and gave him a very eager nod. "Illav cone. Onescoop. Vanilla."

His brow arched. "You sure?"

Giving him another eager nod she pushed her hand onto the lever and the chair surged forward. "Msure," she called over her shoulder, leaving him in her wake.

Grissom paid for the ice creams and they found a bench nearby on which he could sit on. He held both ice creams, alternating between licking some of his and helping Sara with hers. Soon she had molten ice cream dripping down the side of her mouth to her chin and onto her napkin-covered lap but she didn't seem to mind. She didn't seem to notice the furtive stares of the elderly couple passing them by; she was laughing and enjoying herself far too much to care. Grissom did his best to mop up the mess with the paper napkins but when he was holding two ice creams at once it was proving rather difficult. Hank sat by their feet, watching the interaction eagerly, randomly giving out small aggrieved yelps that they weren't sharing.

When they'd finished and he'd cleaned her up as best he could she beckoned for him to come closer. Frowning he leaned in toward her and she reached up her right hand to his face, wiping her finger to his beard. "Ice cream," she said with a shrug, and paused and stared. Her eyes took on a distant turn as though she was having a recollection and he pulled back, smiling.

They soon settled in a companionable silence, content with just being as they often were. Sara's eyes drifted shut and she slanted her face skyward. "I'm happy," she said quite out of the blue, and silently he reached for her hand in her lap and squeezed it, "You make me happy."

And as he stared at her he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and he realised that he couldn't spend a single day without her in his life. He'd been so very close to losing her he couldn't bear the thought of that happening again. He wanted to have and to hold, to love and honour, and cherish from this day forward. He wanted it all, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health until death did them part. Or not, he thought, his smile widening as he remembered the inscription he'd had engraved on his grandmother's ring.

"What's stopping you?" a little voice asked.

He took a breath as he thought about it. What _was_ stopping him now Matthew was gone? "Sara?"

She kept her eyes closed, her face turned toward the sun as she hummed her reply.

"Let's get married."

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry to leave it there, but I need a change in perspective as the next chapter is from Sara's point of view.

Those of you who have read my Grissom/LH stories will know that I personally believe that they did the deed during LHB – just that one time mind you. For the benefit of this story however I'll pretend they haven't so when Grissom replied to Sara's question in the negative he _was_ being truthful.

More very soon!


	46. Chapter 46

A/N: We got snow, and quite a bit of it as well! And since we're stuck in the house I had a little extra time on my hands. I hope you enjoy.

Thanks again for the fantastic response with this story everyone, it's truly humbling to me.

* * *

><p>"Let's get married."<p>

His words were so quiet that for a second Sara thought she'd dreamed them, but the quickening of her heartbeat told her how very real they were. She'd certainly not expected them, not then, not there, finding them a little impulsive and sudden for someone generally so measured and cautious. And maybe they weren't. Maybe he'd planned to ask her all along and was just waiting for the right time. _The right time_, she mused sadly.

Did he understand the implications of what he was saying?

Her eyes snapped open. Her head slowly swivelled round toward him. He was watching her expectantly, a soft smile on his lips and she saw the certainty of his love, of his proposal, in his gaze. He _had_ thought of the implications; he really meant his words. "Married?" she repeated in a breathless whisper.

Swallowing, he gave a small nod. Her eyes filled, and she stared at him and tried to convey all the love she felt for him, the promise of a future with him, but that she couldn't make that commitment to him right then. It wasn't that she didn't want for them to be married. No, in fact she did. She loved him with all her heart and knew that he loved her too. After all, hadn't he made that commitment to her already? She didn't doubt his intentions, but it simply was far too soon in her recovery for her to even contemplate the idea of marriage. It sounded so very final while her future was still too uncertain, her physical limitations and dependency on other people still too great.

The afternoons they spent together were lovely, happy interludes but they showed him nothing of her bleak reality, and while she remained a live-in patient at the Centre he was shielded from the worst aspects of caring for her. But what would happen when they discharged her? Would he cope? _Could_ she? How could hands make you feel beautiful one minute, and clean you up the next? It was degrading enough having a nurse do it on a daily basis, but him?

She touched her hand up to his face and opened her mouth to reply, but found she couldn't. Her eyes lowered, her hand too, and she turned away and watched, through blurry eyes, a runner doing a few stretches in the distance. She had been that runner once, she thought sadly, but could never be her again. She would never even come close to being that woman again, and most of the time she was fine with it. What choice did she have? He had a choice though. He still had a choice. And deferring her answer kept that choice open for him, gave him a way out. In case. Just in case she became too much for him, too much of a burden, an obligation, or worse, in case she became not enough. She closed her eyes, spilling her tears.

"It's okay," he said softly. He didn't reach for her. "You don't have to answer. I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you sad."

She reopened her eyes and turned toward him, but his eyes were intent on the runner. "Gil―"

"I should have waited," he went on as though she hadn't spoken, "My timing's always been off." He turned and met her eyes, and smiled. "It's just that when I saw Heather, just then, I realised that I—"

She lifted her left hand to his mouth, not quite covering it but stopping his flow of words anyway. She owed him an honest reply. She owed them both an honest reply. She swallowed. "Gil, you know I love you," she said, her eyes pleading for his understanding, "You're every beat of my heart." She glanced at the ring on her finger, glinting in the afternoon sunlight, searching for the right words to make him understand.

"And I love you," he cut in quietly and she flicked her eyes back up to his. Smiling he took her hand still hanging in mid-air in front of his face, turned it over and bringing it to his lips pressed a kiss to it. All the while his eyes were locked to hers. "Why not?" he asked with a shrug, his voice soft, kind and compassionate. He waited for a reply, but still she had no words. "Nothing else matters than the love we have for each other."

The shrill screaming of a police siren startled her. She looked away and noticed Hank foraging in the bushes across from them. Unconsciously a smile formed on her lips as she watched him. His tail was wagging, his front paws digging, clearing away earth, while he pulled at something half-buried in the ground. She frowned as she wondered what he had found and hoped it wasn't some poor creature. After a while he emerged carrying a short, stubby stick in his mouth. Her smile widened, and it looked like his did too. He trotted up to her and dropped the muddy stick on her lap.

"You want to play fetch?" she asked him with surprise.

She looked down at the stick and touched her fingertips to it, then glanced back up at Hank. Panting he had sat down on his hind legs in front of her, his eyes flitting between her face and the stick. She swallowed. He had faith in her; he didn't doubt for one second that she couldn't toss that stick. Her fingers curled around the stick, gripping it as tightly as she could as she lifted it off her lap. A flick of the wrist was all it took, but she'd also have to coordinate the release while giving it momentum or the stick would just drop by their feet. As it was she just dropped it back onto her lap.

Grissom had gone quiet. She could feel his eyes on her, and she glanced round to him. He was watching her expectantly too and with the same certainty as Hank. The love and trust reflected in his face brought more tears to her eyes. She felt the wetness of Hank's nose as it gently nudged her right hand to the stick and refocusing on him she lifted her hand to his head and gave him a good rub around his ears.

"He wants to help you," Grissom said and Sara turned puzzled eyes toward him. "That's what dog therapy's about, Sara. That's what he's been training for every time we meet Ron."

Hank whimpered. Then he gave a small bark as though echoing Grissom's words and Sara pulled a face at them as she wondered who was conspiring with whom now.

"You can do this," Grissom said, his voice gentle and coaxing, a bigger smile breaking as he winked at Hank. "What's the worst that can happen, huh?" he then asked, deliberately quoting her own words back at her.

Her eyes averted. "That I fail."

He dipped his head, seeking her gaze. "Has that ever stopped you in the past?"

Flicking her eyes up to his she gave him a shake of the head.

"Ten bucks you can't hit three yards."

She burst out laughing. "Three yards?" she exclaimed with outrage, her jaw setting at the challenge. "You're on."

Hank didn't need to be told twice. Sara once again picked up the stick and he stood up, at the ready. A look of intent concentration on her face she gripped the stick tightly, then swung her arm in as wide a sideways arc as she could and with a flick of her wrist released the stick. It didn't go very far, but it sure went further than three yards.

Tail wagging, Hank fetched the stick and brought it back, once again dropping it onto her lap before sitting down in front of her.

"He wants you to do it again," Grissom said.

"Gee, you don't say," she deadpanned, but the grin she turned toward him was wide, proud and happy and letting out an overly-deep breath of contentment she held out her hand at him, palm up, demanding payment.

With a dramatic sigh he shook his head. Then he lifted a buttock off the bench, took out his wallet from his back pocket and removed a crisp ten dollar bill. He waved it in her eye line, paused and a look she didn't quite like crossing his features slid out a second note. She liked a playful Grissom, she liked him a lot.

"Okay," he said, "let's make this interesting. Double your winnings if you hit ten yards."

Her smile vanished; her hand dropped to the arm of the chair._Ten yards?_ Why did he have to spoil everything by pushing too hard? "What if I don't want your money?"

"Oh, but you do."

Her brow arched. "I do?"

"Oh, yes. With money you can buy things."

Her gaze narrowed as she realised she was playing right into his hands. "What kind of things?" she asked in a sigh.

"Anything you want." He paused; pretended to think it over. "You could maybe…take me to the movies one evening...if you so wished."

Her gaze became distant, focusing on a point in the distance. "The movies?"

"A week on Wednesday, I got the night off. We could go then, have dinner first, of course."

_Dinner?_ Her heart sank. She could never do dinner, not a romantic dinner as he imagined. "Don't," she said sadly.

"Don't what?"

She met his eyes. "Tease me."

"I'm not," he said earnestly. "Dinner would have to be at the Centre, but that's okay, I got it all figured out."

She stared at him with disbelief. He'd asked?

"As long as I've got you tucked in bed by nine thirty we're good to go. And no," he added, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I wouldn't be able to stay past that time."

Sara felt herself smile from the inside out. First because she wanted to believe it was possible, and then because he knew her so well. He made it sound so simple. "Dinner would be messy."

"I love a good food fight."

"How would we get to the movies?"

"Taxicab," he replied, and shrugged as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

"I'd rather you took me home," she said. "We could watch a film there."

"Sara—"

"You've put the house on the market and you don't want to tell me. Is that it?"

Indignation filled his face. "No, of course not." He paused and shrugged. "Well, I thought about it, but no. It's your home – _our_ home, I couldn't do that. There are far too many memories in that house."

"Then why wait?"

His shoulder rose again and he sighed. "I'm having a little work done to it, that's all."

"Work?"

He met her eyes and smiled. "Nothing major." Her eyes narrowed enquiringly and he laughed. "Just a ramp built on the outside and a door widened at the back. Oh, and also, I'm having a stair lift fitted."

She felt tears rise. "We have stairs?" she gasped, adding when he nodded, "Why not just tell me that? Why keep it a secret?"

His smile became shy and self-conscious. "Because I wanted it to be perfect for you. I wanted it to be a surprise."

Hank let out a bark, reminding them that he was still waiting, and they turned toward him. Impatiently circling the spot in front of the chair he glanced at the stick on her lap and then back at her face. She laughed. "Alright," she said. "Ten yards it is, or Cinderella shan't go to the ball."

Grissom leaned in toward her. "The movie theatre," he corrected in a whisper in her ear.

Giggling, she picked up the stick and tossed it as far as she could. Hank took off after it, catching it before it hit the ground. She sighed. "You think it would have hit ten yards?"

His arm slid in the gap between the back of her neck and the chair and gently pulling her toward him he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Who cares if it did?" he said quietly. "What matters is that it went further than the first time."

His words gave her pause. She turned in his arm and nodded her head at him. Telling him before that he made her happy didn't even come close to the rush of overwhelming emotion she felt for him at that very moment. Hank dropped the stick on her lap again and laughing she picked it up and tossed it again, and again, until her arm began to ache and she said, 'No more.'

"So?" he asked a little uncertainly after a while in silence.

The caution in his tone pulled at her heart. She turned toward him and offered him a faint smile, wary she was going to disappoint him. "I'm not saying yes," she said, "but I'm not saying no either."

He pursed his face at her. "I can live with that."

"I'm just not ready. Not yet. I don't think I can make that kind of commitment to you right now. I want to, but…there are too many uncertainties still."

Smiling he nodded and reached over to cup her face. "You know I'll ask again, right?"

"I'm counting on it." She leaned her face into his hand and stared at him, thanking him with her eyes for how understanding he was being. "Are you okay?"

He gave her the softest smile. "Sure. I can wait. I will wait. In fact, it's my turn to wait." His eyes shone with the tenderness of his love and she found herself mesmerised. "Besides, I could have tried harder. Next time I'll definitely try harder."

She laughed, but felt sorry inside because she knew his confidence had to have taken a blow. Besides she didn't want him to try harder; his quiet proposal was just perfect as it was. He dropped his hand from her face to her hand. Their fingers entwined, their hands making one. She kept her eyes on his face.

"Sara, honey, there's one thing I want you to remember," he said as he stared at their joined hands. He stopped and took a breath, then looked up, his smile shy and tentative, and she knew he had been phrasing words in his head. "I've only ever loved one woman in my life. One. And that's you. Until we met I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much. So much it aches at times."

His smile wavered and he swallowed. "Whether we get married or not ultimately doesn't change anything." He lifted a self-conscious shoulder. "I am bound to you all the same." He stopped and stared and it was only when he raised his free hand to her face and rubbed a gentle thumb on her cheek that she realised she was crying again. "It's just that…I'm ready to take that step, and I guess I wanted you to know that."

Her lips pinched and she took in a fraught breath. "Thank you," she mouthed, choked up, and then in the same breathless whisper told him the one thing she held as a promise. "I felt something today. On my foot."

His face lit up. "You did?"

She nodded. "It wasn't much, just a tingle. And then when the chair bumped against the doorframe earlier…I felt some vibrations."

"Oh, but that's great. Sara, why didn't you say?"

"It's so little, Gil. So very little."

"You're moving mountains, Sara." He took a big breath and let it out slowly through his nose, badly suppressing his emotion. "Mountains."

"Not fast enough."

A trembling hand rose to the cap and tapped the brim. "Nothing ever moves fast enough for you."

"That's not true," she said. "The High Roller, that moves fast enough."

His face softened with pleasure, and he laughed. The way he was staring at her made her think that everything was possible. He shifted a little closer on the bench and they leaned in for a kiss. She tasted vanilla on his lips, vanilla and…bacon. Strange combination but she quite liked it. Her stomach gave a low rumble and chuckling they pulled apart.

"Do you think I could have meat on our dinner date?" she asked.

He frowned. "_Meat_?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Everything they feed me is meat-free."

He spluttered into laughter, then pinched his lips and shook his head.

Her gaze narrowed. "What? What did I say?"

"I'm sorry," he said, quickly sobering up. "You just took me by surprise, that's all." He opened his mouth, then closed it, trapping more laughter.

"Spill," she said.

"I don't know if I should. I mean, you're making new memories, new choices and maybe I shouldn't influence them by telling you what I already know. Maybe second time round your choices will be different."

Sara was about to object but changed her mind. Wasn't that what she'd been trying to get him to see when she'd had her hair cut? That despite her being the same person she might be different? And yet she did object, only because she was desperate to know who the person he knew and loved was. "You're not making sense."

"How do you mean?"

"You bring me stuff I like all the time because you know I like them. Take Blue Bell ice cream, for example. You cook my favourite food; you read from my favourite books, we watch favourite films. You're not influencing my choices; my tastes are my tastes, even if I don't always remember."

His brow was high by the time she'd finished her little tirade and she realised he'd probably only caught every other word. Still, she got her point across. "Oh, sweetheart," he said, unable to contain his mirth, "I don't know how to break this to you gently but…you're a vegetarian."

"What?"

He shrugged. "You're a vegetarian."

And she had no recollection of it? "Since when?"

"Now, that, my dear, is a long story."

Her gaze narrowed with interest.

"We should head back," he said, getting to his feet, "before they send out a search party."

"Oh, no, you don't get out of that one that easily. What happened?"

He scanned his eyes all around them, then whistled for Hank who promptly emerged from some undergrowth nearby. There was a moment's hesitation, but he sat back down on the bench, clearly having made the decision to tell her. "Five years ago," he said, "we worked a spousal abuse case where the wife wound up dead in the mountains." He stopped talking and stared at her before flashing a quick smile. "Anyway, the husband was the prime suspect but he had a solid alibi."

"He did it?"

He nodded. "But we couldn't prove it. We-" he smiled, opening his hand out to her, "_you_ were insistent. You wouldn't let it lie, so I went back to the evidence and used a dead pig to re-ascertain TOD. We stayed up all night." His lips twitched. "The stench got…too much, and after that you stopped eating meat altogether. Of course, at the time I had no idea."

She shuddered at the thought. "I stayed up all night to watch a pig decompose?"

A smile played round the edges of his mouth. "You stayed up all night so we could prove the husband murdered his wife."

_Kaye Shelton._The name echoed through her head until she whispered it aloud. "Kaye Shelton," she said in a gasp. Recollections began to flood her, sad and disturbing, but she found she was able to push past the pain. "Kaye Shelton," she repeated breathlessly, immensely proud of herself.

Grissom laughed. Another thought entered her head and she felt herself go red. She dipped her face to hide her embarrassment. His laughter died suddenly. "Sara?" he called quietly, and she could hear the anxiety in his voice.

She looked up, met his eyes and began to giggle.

A look of puzzlement crossed his face. "What is it?" he asked, unsure as to whether he should be concerned or laugh with her.

"I asked you to sleep with me."

A smile of recollection twisted his lip and he fell silent. Then he nodded at her. "It's funny you should remember that," he said with an uneasy chuckle, his expression becoming solemn. "You can't begin to know how much I wanted to kiss you at that moment; how much I wanted to take you in my arms and just hold you there, keep you there and the nightmares away."

"What stopped you?"

Sadness filled his gaze. "Everything," he said with a shrug. "I just wasn't ready. I―So I sat in the lot outside your apartment that morning and watched your window, and that's the closest to you I could allow myself to be. I wanted to make everything better for you, but I couldn't."

"You did," she said. "You put that bastard behind bars where he belongs."

He gave her a small smile and nodded. "Well, in the end the bullets got us a conviction, not the bugs, but yeah."

Sara watched as Hank pressed his nose into Grissom's hand. A smile formed on his face and he looked down, returning the boxer's affection.

"So, now I'm a vegetarian," she said, wanting to lighten the mood.

"You don't have to be if you don't want to," he said lightly, and his words gave her pause. He stood up, indicating with his head that it was time they left and she nodded at him. Slowly they set off back the way they had come in companionable silence, each to their own thoughts. Every so often they would steal a glance at the other and wonder the same thing: what it was that made them so special that the other had picked them.

They were almost there when Grissom stopped suddenly in his tracks. Sara followed suit, manoeuvring the chair round so she faced him. "By the way," he asked, "What's happening on the sixteenth?"

Sara's heartbeat quickened. She had hoped she had got away with it, but she should have known better. What she couldn't work out though was how that woman had known about the date for the fundraising event, nearly two months away, when nothing had been made official yet.

"The sixteenth?" she said, feigning ignorance, "I have no idea. What day are we today?"


	47. Chapter 47

Grissom had just finished logging in the evidence for the breaking and entering he'd spent the last four hours processing and was headed to the break room for a much needed snack when he stopped outside the open layout room door. Catherine was bent over the light table, a pair of tweezers in hand. Her shoulders were tense, the crease on her brow deep as she scrutinised what looked like a blue male shirt with a magnifying glass.

She made a low, frustrated sound and he watched as she put down the tweezers and blindly reached for the safety goggles and ALS lamp lying next to the shirt on the table. With a flick of her hair she slipped the goggles on before flicking the switch on the underside of the table and turning the UV light on. The room fell into darkness but for the blue hue, and carefully holding her hair back from her face with her left hand she ran the light over the shirt, both sides. Almost the entire shirt fluoresced under the light. Catherine's head dropped, low and dejected by her findings. His lips twitched with a smile.

"I proposed," he said quietly. There was pride in his voice, pride and satisfaction.

Catherine jumped. Then she paused and he could imagine her closing her eyes. His smile widened at the very long and fed-up breath she let out. "And what is it you propose?" she asked through gritted teeth as she turned an exasperated face toward him. "Go on, tell me. Let me hear it. I want to know what it is the king knows that I don't."

His smile became a smirk and he scanned his eyes up and down the corridor. "No, Catherine," he said just as quietly. Stepping inside the room he closed the door behind him. "I pro_posed_."

It took a second for his words to register. Slowly, she removed the safety goggles and stared at him dumbfounded. He felt his hand blindly to the switch on the wall, flicking the overhead light on, and gave her a slight shrug.

"To Sara," he added, in case she needed clarification. "This afternoon."

Her mouth opened and then closed. "Congratulations," she exclaimed at last, a grin breaking across her face. She put down the light and goggles and closed the distance to him, her arms opening in invitation for a hug.

He shook his head, gave an uneasy chuckle. "She turned me down."

Catherine's arms fell by her side. Laughter bubbled out of her and she pinched her lips. "I'm sorry, Gil," she said, her laughter somewhat escaping, "but your face!"

He pasted a fake smile on his face and she brought the back of her hand in front of her mouth, hiding her mirth.

"How do you feel about it?" she asked.

His shoulder lifted. "I'll live."

She laughed and he couldn't help laughing too. She opened her arms out again and he fell into them.

"You know about these things," he said when they pulled apart and her eyes narrowed quizzically. "How do you…I mean…what's the best way to…you know…if you want…" Her lips pinched again, suppressing laughter, and he stopped and let out a long breath. "For future reference, what should I have done differently?"

Catherine's mouth pursed in thought. "It depends. What did she say?"

Grissom cast his mind back to their afternoon at the park. A smile formed at the recollection. "That she loved me, but that she wasn't ready."

Catherine's brow rose at the candour of his words, and he shrugged. "She probably isn't," she said with confidence. "I mean, she's got a lot going on."

"I know that, but I thought…well, I want her to know I'm there for the long haul."

Her hand lifted to his arm and she gave it a warm rub. "She knows that."

He made his face into a pout. "I thought she'd say 'yes'."

Catherine's face softened. "She will – when she's ready. You can't rush these things."

"You're not helping."

"I'm sorry," she said, but her tone told him she wasn't. "Just keep being there for her. And try again. Persistence will get you everywhere. And flattery." Her eyes took a distant turn. "And flowers."

A phone beeped with a text message and she gave her head a shake, refocusing. He felt his pockets with both hands, locating his cell. "Hodges's got some results for me," he said absently, squinting at the display. Pocketing the cell he turned on his heels and opened the door.

"Keep the faith, Gil," she said as he passed the threshold. "You'll get there in the end."

He took in breath, paused and turned back toward her. "Just in the interest of research, how did Eddie do it? I mean, propose to you."

Catherine laughed. "In the interest of research I will answer that," she said, beaming at him. "God knows the man had his flaws but when he wanted to he could charm the pants off an old lady." Her smile softened. "So can you." He gave her a blank stare and she shrugged. "He did the bending down on one knee thing. The ring wasn't real but who cared. I was in love."

"My knees aren't what they used to be."

More stifled laughter from Catherine. "You'll find a way."

He gave her an absent nod, and left, headed to his office via the trace lab.

"Wow, Gil," she called after him, "not so fast!"

He stopped and whirled round to face her. Her head was popped round the layout room door, her smile tender and warm. She scanned her eyes all around them before meeting his expectant ones. "I'm proud of you," she mouthed and winked.

A slow smile spread over his face and he nodded. "Detergent," he said, with a jerk of the head toward the layout room, "That's your killer."

"Get out of here," Catherine said, teasing, and laughing he turned on his heels.

He was making his way to Hodges when his cell rang. Without thinking he pulled it out of his pocket, checking the caller display. It wasn't one of the numbers memorised, or even a PD number. "Grissom," he answered, stopping just outside the trace lab. He waited for someone to talk, but all he heard was white noise. A shiver ran through him. "Sara? Sara, honey, is that you?" he asked, turning away from Hodges's prying stare, already imagining the worst despite himself.

The time on his watch read 4am and he shook his head, clearing his mind, knowing it couldn't be her. Sara was safely tucked up in bed, sleeping. Besides, she wouldn't call his cell. The sense of foreboding prevailed for a few seconds as he stared at the phone, but Hodges waved at him through the plate glass and he ended the call, distractingly shoving the cell back in his jacket pocket.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, boss," the tech said as he handed a print-out to him.

"Thanks Hodges," Grissom said, taking the sheet. Without another word he left, reading over the results as he walked to the break room. Another dead end on the arson case he and Nick were working. He made himself a coffee and took out the burrito he'd prepared earlier, from the fridge, the lone muffin left in a plastic container on the table, a perk of the job.

A pile of neatly stacked mail sat on his desk, waiting. He sighed and picked up the first letter, turning it over before tossing it aside. His gaze narrowed as he caught sight of the letter underneath. The envelope was blue, smaller than the other ones, cheap-looking. The address had been hand-written, large loopy letters that took up almost all of the space. He picked it up, instinctively knowing who it was from even before he'd slipped his glasses on and read the Reno postmark. Smiling he searched his desk for his letter knife and slid it in the opening, touched that she had gone to the trouble of writing to him.

"Clara," he said as he sank into his chair and began to read the letter. She started off asking if he remembered her, and he shook his head at the crystal clear recollections of someone he'd only met once for a few hours when they'd briefly shared a hospital room. She'd certainly made a lasting impression on him, as evidently he had on her. She told him about the kids, about Duke, that she was home now, but he gathered from what she left unsaid how tough a time she was having since the heart transplant.

Without thinking he reached for the writing paper in his desk drawer, immediately setting about composing a reply. He told her about Sara, about how against the odds she had survived and was making a remarkable recovery. Soon he'd filled a page, and still the words flowed, effortless and uncensored. He only stopped when he almost ran out of space at the bottom of the second page, ending with, '_Can you believe I proposed to her today? I can't. She didn't say yes. But then again,'_ he wrote merrily, _'neither did she say no. Keep well,'_he paused and lifted the pen off the page, then shook his head, writing because that was the first thing that had come to his mind, _'Love, Gil.'_

He read over what he had written, made sure to include his home address and phone numbers, lest she needed them, if ever she came to Vegas. Never in the past had he struck a friendship like―he stopped his train of thoughts dead in its track and smiled at the lie he had been about to think. Once before he'd connected to another human being the way he had with Clara. He was rummaging in his desk drawer for his roll of stamps when he felt a presence at the open door.

"Catherine sent you?" he asked without looking up.

Brass laughed. "I come bearing gifts."

Grissom tore a stamp off the strip, stuck it to the envelope and glanced up over the rim of his glasses, smiling when Brass raised a brown paper bag in the air. He gave his head a shake. "I got work to do."

Brass made a show of checking the time. "You're off the clock." Grissom registered a look of surprise at the news. "And so am I. And I think a toast is in order." Brass fully stepped inside Grissom's office and shut the door.

Grissom heaved a deep breath, tossed the letter into the out-tray and was about to set Brass straight when the captain spoke.

"Laura told me about Matthew dropping the suit," he said, "I thought it was worth celebrating."

Grissom gave a snort of disbelief. He slipped his glasses off, indicating with his hand that Brass should take a seat.

"What?" Brass defended as he sat down across from his friend, "did you have something else in mind?"

"No," Grissom laughed.

"Got glasses?" Brass asked.

Grissom gave his head a shake to regain focus and turned over his shoulder, reaching into a low cupboard for a couple of tumblers, which he set on the desk. "You heard he's suing the department?"

Brass half-unwrapped the bottle, untwisting the top and poured a generous measure of the amber liquid into each glass. He pushed a glass across to Grissom. "I'd heard."

Grissom picked up the glass, raising it in his eye line to study it. Easier to talk if one didn't have to stare at the other. "And?"

Brass did the same and leaned back in his seat. "Better if his name's on the suit than yours."

Grissom's eyes lifted to his friend. "Do you think he's got grounds?"

Brass's shoulder rose. "I think the department will settle regardless."

Grissom nodded his head thoughtfully. Truth be told, for Sara to get the best care when she was discharged they'd need the settlement money. "So," he then said, changing tack, "how are things…progressing?"

"Progressing?"

"With Laura."

"Ah." Brass brought the glass to his lips and took a slow swig, pondering the question. "Has Sara said something? I mean…is she opposed to the idea of…me and Laura having dinner sometimes?"

Grissom brought the glass to his lips. "No."

"And you?"

A shrug. "I'm glad you two are getting along." The desk phone rang. Grissom sighed and sat forward, putting his glass down and reaching for the phone. "Grissom," he replied in his usual curt tone.

"Sir, Sara on the phone for you," Judy said.

Grissom checked his watch, straightening up, his senses immediately on alert. "Thank you, Judy," he replied quickly, saying after the connecting sound, "Honey, is everything all right?"

"No," she said. Her voice was hoarse and low, fearful and breathless, the remnant of tears he heard there pulling at his heart. She'd had another nightmare, he figured and sighed. "Msorry," she said, "Knowyou'reworking."

"It's okay," he said, injecting a little brightness in his tone and glancing toward Brass. "I could do with a break and a chat." He turned his body away. "You want to tell me about it?"

"No. Mkay, now. Just wanted tocheck in wivyou."

He thought her words over, hoping to glean some clues as to the details of her nightmare. "Do you want me to come over?"

There was a pause and he frowned. Someone else was in the room with her. "No," she said, "Mkay."

"Who's with you?" he asked.

"Doctorliamson."

"Hi, Mr Grissom," the doctor said pleasantly enough, but Grissom picked up the slight edge in his voice, "Sara had a bad dream, but she's all right now. We're trying a new technique." Grissom nodded into the phone, picking up the doctor's subtext: that Sara had refused sedation and that he didn't want him to come over. "We just wanted to check that you were…safe and fine. And you are."

Grissom swallowed as the pieces began to come together. Sara had dreamed of him, and he couldn't be sure whether she'd remembered a time when he'd been hurt or whether she'd just had a bad dream, but he was sure that she'd woken up terrified and screaming, calling for him. Brass caught his eye, silently asking if everything was all right and he nodded. He wanted nothing more than to jump into his car and drive over straightaway, but he knew he shouldn't and that by doing so he'd only be undermining the Centre's good work.

"Gotscared," Sara said, calmer now, "But mkay now."

"I'm okay," he said, feigning cheeriness, "nothing's happened to me. I'm sitting at my desk, pushing paperwork. Brass is here actually. He says hello and that he'll come by to see you soon." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Kay. Stillcoming to the pool?" Her voice was brighter now.

"You bet I am."

"Lookforward toit."

"Me too, sweetheart," he replied softly.

She said a quiet, "I love you," as though her life depended on it. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, sorry that he couldn't do more to reassure her. He turned away from Brass, cupping his hand over the receiver as he told her he loved her too. He waited for the call to be disconnected on the other end to let out a long breath and hang up the phone.

"She's still having nightmares?" Brass asked.

He looked up to his friend and nodded. "It's been a while, though, since the last one. That I know of anyway."

Brass finished his drink and setting the glass down on the desk corner pushed up to his feet. "I'm beat," he said, then, "Keep the bottle. Next time we'll toast your good news."

Grissom shook his head, the half-smile on his lips one of amusement.

Brass stared at him a while longer. He looked about to say something when he changed his mind.

"Go home," Grissom said.

"You should do the same."

"I will. I just got to finish this."

Grissom picked up the next letter on the pile of mail – a thick brown envelope, hand delivered by the looks of it, with just his name and title on it – and raised it in the air. Frowning he picked up the knife which he slid under the opening and pulled out a stack of seven-by-five glossy photos, face down. He checked inside the envelope for a note but there wasn't one. The same sense of foreboding that had filled him earlier returned. He turned the photos over and gasped. His eyes widened with fright. A ball formed in his throat, a tightening he couldn't seem to be able to swallow. His hands began to shake as he stared at the top picture, a shot of him and Sara at the park that very afternoon.

"Oh, dear, god," he muttered, dropping the envelope on the desk as he began frantically flicking though the other photographs. Endless close-up and distant shots of the two of them eating ice cream or talking, walking, laughing, playing with Hank. His hand rose to his mouth and he fought to catch his breath. His eyes lifted to Brass, stunned and wide with fear, then averted back down to the pictures. His head was pounding and swiping a shaky hand down his face he closed his eyes.

"Gil? Gil, you okay?"

He looked up again, his shock mirrored by Brass's puzzlement, and tossed the stack of photos at his friend across the desk. Brass stepped forward, but had the presence of mind not to touch them straightaway. He scanned his eyes around Grissom's office, finally locating a box of latex gloves on a shelf nearby. Grissom turned away, disgusted at himself for his oversight when he heard Brass snapping gloves on his hands.

Brass slowly flicked through the photos, trying but failing to hide his growing distress. He made a low sound, a muttered curse that sadly brought it all home for Grissom. A muscle twitched in the captain's jaw, his normally cool exterior shattering with every new picture he looked at. "You don't think it's―"

Grissom whipped round on his chair so fast that papers flew off the desk onto the floor. He sprung to his feet, leaning forward, hands spread wide with his palms down on the desk. His rage was spilling, uncontrollable through his words, his clenched fists, the taut lines in his neck. "The one that got away, Jim! Who else?" He paused, but couldn't catch his breath, and slammed his hands down on the desk so hard whisky swirled, splashing out of his glass. "Son of a bitch," he exclaimed in a loud, angry shout that made Brass jump. "He was watching us all along and I never even saw him!"

"Calm down, Gil," Brass said, cell already in hand and punching buttons, "we don't know it's him yet." But his actions and the fear on his face and voice belied his words.

Grissom's eyes scrunched shut and he sank back down on his chair as despair momentarily filled him. Would this nightmare never end? Just when he thought they could start looking to the future again. His head hung low, his arms wrapping tight around it as his precarious world once again began to collapse around him. Not for long. His fury returned, and with a vengeance, and at that moment he made himself a promise.

Shaking with rage, he reached for his phone, calling Torrey Pines, asking to be put through to security. His words came thick and fast and he willed himself to calm down as he explained the threat on Sara's life and that under no circumstances she was to suspect anything was amiss, while half-hearing Brass's anxious call to dispatch asking for a unit to be there yesterday.

Only then did the auto-pilot kick in and he did what he did best, what he should have done from the start; he reached for latex gloves and put everything into clear evidence bags, knowing that he'd most probably already compromised whatever trace and fingerprint evidence might have been there. He was aware of Brass's presence in the room somewhere, barking more orders into the phone. He knew what needed to be done; he just couldn't stop the angry tremor in his hands long enough to do it.

He'd get the bastard. He'd get him, and then he'd kill him.


	48. Chapter 48

Grissom's eyes were closed. From the outside he appeared calm and composed as he leaned against the print lab's workstation, patiently waiting for Mandy to work her magic. Inside he was shaking all over, with fear for Sara and her life, but also for himself and what he now knew he was capable of**. **The attack on Sara and the turmoil of emotion it subsequently unleashed within him had pushed him to breaking point and over the edge, and with dreadful consequences.

He'd almost killed a man. In his quest for revenge and retribution, he'd almost killed a man. He hadn't acted in self-defence. His actions had been cool, calm and calculated. Premeditated, even. Indefensible. Unforgivable. And yet people had, friends and colleagues who had gone to great lengths to cover for him so now he wouldn't be behind bars.

He wasn't proud of what he had done. He simply hadn't been able to control himself and stop it from happening. He had been a man possessed. His pain, his rage over losing Sara had been blinding, overpowering to the point of turning him into a monster. Seeing the pictures had reawakened those feelings in him and he knew that that was exactly what Wallis was counting on.

"There's nothing but your prints on them, Sir, I'm sorry," Mandy said at last, drawing him back. "I've checked and double-checked."

Grissom's eyes opened and he watched as Mandy straightened up from studying the last photograph in the pack, the one and only picture with Heather on. The shot had been taken from a distance and Heather stood in profile to the camera and briefly he wondered whether Mandy had recognised her. She turned her face toward him and the questions in her eyes told him that she had. But she didn't voice them. She simply gave him that soft smile of hers, and he nodded with a sigh, accepting her results for what they were.

"For what it's worth," Mandy went on, "there weren't any other prints in the first place. He…the perp must have worn gloves."

"Thanks Mandy. I appreciate you staying on to do this."

The print tech acknowledged his words with a nod. She flicked her gaze away and then back to him, hesitating. "Do you really think it's him? I mean, do you think Wallis is behind this?"

"Yes, I do."

Mandy took a step toward him. Her hand rose to his shoulder, barely touching before dropping down to her side. "You'll get him," she said quietly, but emphatically. "You got him once. You'll get him again."

Grissom mustered a half-smile and nodded his thanks. At that moment Catherine stopped at the lab's threshold. Catching his eye she raised an enquiring and slightly hopeful brow and he shook his head in reply. She sighed then jerked her head toward the corridor, and after thanking Mandy again he pushed off the counter, following her out.

"No luck with Judy either," she said as they headed to his office. "Says the letter was already there when she started her shift and that she just put it and the rest of your mail on your desk as usual. I've got Archie reviewing security tapes of the reception area and the lot. Maybe he made the drop himself."

"I doubt it," Grissom said in a sigh. On reaching his office he slowed down, allowing Catherine to enter first. "Brass is checking CCTV and traffic cameras in the park's vicinity, see if any could have inadvertently recorded his movement." He bent down and picked up the sheets that had scattered on the floor when he'd had his outburst earlier, looking up as he spoke. "At least we got a timeline, and Brass knows who he's looking for."

A faint smile crossed Catherine's face. "He sure does. You spoke to Sara?"

Straightening up he gave his head a shake. "She'd pick up on my mood immediately and I don't want to have to lie to her. And I certainly don't want her worrying. There's a guard at her door, Brass's men in a cruiser in the lot. While she stays inside the Centre she's safe." Pausing he plopped down on his chair, put the papers on his desk and brought a weary hand to his face.

"Go home," Catherine said. He looked up at her and she smiled. "I got this covered; go get some rest. I'll call you as soon as we get something."

"I'm okay; I'd rather be here. I've got a few calls to make then I'll check on Archie."

She picked up the bottle of whisky and glasses from his desk and put them away on a shelf nearby. "Maybe it's not him," she said suddenly. "Maybe we need to widen our search to include―"

"It's him," he said categorically. "He's toying with me, making his presence known. He's…trying to rattle me."

She paused and studied him. There was care mixed with concern in her eyes. She also knew what he was capable of. It was strange he thought now, that he hadn't felt any awkwardness about returning to work. Now the equilibrium had shifted. He felt like everyone was watching him; Brass, Mandy, Catherine, they all looked at him differently, almost fearfully, and he couldn't say he blamed them.

"And is he succeeding?" she asked tentatively.

He thought her words over, debating how honest to be with her. His eyes lowered and he nodded his head.

She covered the distance to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What about the address in North Vegas?" she said, "Santa Maria something or other, wasn't it?"

"Santa Clarita," he corrected, looking up, grateful she wasn't pushing the issue. "154 Santa Clarita Avenue. Brass sent a patrol car. The house is empty. Boarded up. No signs that anybody's been there since...you know…"

She nodded her head and after another silent squeeze of his shoulder moved round to the front of the desk, sinking down in the seat opposite him. She wiped her eyes. "What else have we got?" she said, glancing up suddenly. "What are we missing?"

Grissom took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know." His cell beeped with a text. He reached into his pocket, jumping to his feet and walking to the door as he read the message. "It's from Archie," he said, adrenaline once again pumping as they exited his office. "He's got something."

As soon as he stepped over the A/V lab threshold his eyes locked onto the frozen picture on the wall screen, zooming in on the lone person with their back to the camera and the thick brown envelope in a gloved hand. They wore a dark ball cap pulled down low, baggy pants and top, both dark. The time stamp showed, 20.55, the previous evening. Suddenly he felt calmer, his tension dissipating a little now that they had something concrete to work with.

"Archie, what have you got?" Catherine asked as she came to a stop next to him.

"Security footage from the reception area. Cameras from the lot didn't pick up anything interesting. Front desk was left unattended for about a minute. She strode straight in, put the package down on the counter and was back out again in under ten seconds. She never turned toward the camera. This, here, is the clearest shot I've got of her."

Grissom's hand rose to his mouth. "A woman?" he said in a gasp of disbelief.

"Looks like it," Catherine said. She moved forward, pointing toward the screen. "You can just about see the white bra strap under the left shoulder of her sweatshirt."

There was an expectant pause and Grissom knew what was going through his co-workers' heads. "It doesn't mean anything," he said, finding his voice at last. "It's not because a woman made the drop that Wallis isn't behind it. She could be his girlfriend, or he simply paid her to do it. Archie, can you tidy up the picture as much as you can and print stills, close-up and remote? Then pull up the CCTV footage of the vandalism to my car last month. See if we're dealing with the same individual."

"Yes, Sir," Archie said, tapped a few keys on the keyboard and set about isolating several still shots, which he sent to the printer.

Then stifling a yawn he pushed himself off the counter and swivelling on his chair glided across to a shelf carrying rows upon rows of video evidence. He ran his finger against the spine of the recordings until he found the one he was looking for. Sliding back to his desk he loaded the new film, playing and cueing it up to the frame they were after. The screen split; one half showing their woman in the reception area, the other the person – they had thought up to then to have been male – who had vandalised Grissom's car.

Grissom sighed. Whichever angle they looked at it from it was impossible to ascertain categorically whether they were dealing with the same individual. The clothing and ball cap were similar but not the same, as was their build and stance. "Thanks Archie. Make sure I get copies of all the prints," he said, and made for the door, Catherine hot on his heels.

"Do you think he's pulling strings from Mexico?" she asked when they were out of earshot.

"No. He's here in Vegas. He took those shots himself. He's just smart enough to be keeping his distance." They reached his office and Grissom stopped abruptly. "There's no need for the two of us to be here," he said, "You go home and get some rest. I'll call if…" he waved the rest of his sentence off.

Catherine paused. "You're trying to get rid of me?" She had aimed for a casual tone but had failed. She held his gaze meaningfully and he got the subtext loud and clear.

Sighing he stepped inside his office. All the evidence pertaining to Sara's attack he'd asked to be brought over from evidence lockup was sitting on his desk in boxes, and he walked round his desk to it. A lump formed in his throat; his heart began to beat faster as his anxiety returned.

Catherine followed him in, plopping herself in front of his desk with her hands on her hips. "What's this?" she asked, nodding to the boxes.

He flicked his gaze up briefly. "It's…the evidence relating to the attack on Sara."

"Oh, no," she said in a firm tone, her head shaking, "You're not doing this."

"Catherine―"

"No, Gil, I won't have you do it." She held his gaze. "I can see why you'd want to review the original evidence… It makes sense that someone did. But it's not going to be you. I'll do it."

"Okay," he said, relieved. "Thank you."

She gave him a small smile and nodded. She flicked her eyes down to the boxes, then all around his office. Her expression darkened and he could well imagine what she was seeing; all that evidence obsessively, compulsively pinned up and displayed on every available surface in his office. He'd scared her; hell, he'd scared himself. Had she been the one to clear it all? He'd never even thought to ask.

Right on cue her voice dropped to a whisper and she said, "You scared me, Gil. Going after Wallis, the way you did before…" she looked up, holding his gaze, "You became someone I didn't know, someone I feared, someone I couldn't protect." She blinked hard, and he could tell she was having a hard time keeping the emotion and reproach out of her voice. "You did things to him I couldn't believe my own eyes you were capable of doing to anyone, even to him." His eyes lowered to the boxes, shameful, contrite. "Last time I covered for you, Gil. We all covered for you, but―"

Grissom's exhale of breath was as long as his nod was slow. "This time you won't have to," he said, looking up and sat down, "and I wouldn't expect you to either." He sighed. "I won't make the same mistake again. When Sara got hurt before I lost all perspective. I―I…" He closed his eyes unable to put into words what he'd felt then before forcing them open again. "If I'd done things by the book Brass wouldn't have had to cut him loose and he wouldn't be out now."

"You're right he wouldn't."

"I can't let Sara down a second time, or you and Brass and the guys. Besides it's different now. Sara's doing well and we've a future to look forward to."

She stared at him for the longest of time, then satisfied with his answer gave him a nod. "Okay."

Brewer from days was working in the layout room, so Grissom helped Catherine carry the boxes to her office. He was walking past the A/V lab on his way back to his office when he suddenly remembered the call he'd received the previous night. He'd put it down to a number error, but now he wasn't so sure. It could be nothing, a mere coincidence, or then again it could be the detail that broke the case.

The lab was empty. With a glance over his shoulder Grissom took his cell out of his pocket, sat at the computer and set about retrieving the number that had called him at 4am. It took no longer than a minute. Then he inputted the number into the reverse call-up programme and waited. It matched a disposable cell phone, unregistered, untraceable. The sense of foreboding he'd felt when he'd got the call prevailed and he suddenly understood why. Let's presume there was no mistake with the number, who apart from law-enforcement personnel had access to his brand-new PD-issued cell phone number?

"Who?" he said out loud, and then he knew, and the thought sent chills down his spine.

* * *

><p>Sara couldn't remember a life without nightmares; the first ones, the first real ones, had started soon after her mother had got taken into custody and had continued ever since. She had learned to live with them and to accept them as normal behaviour. For her, waking up in the middle of sleep in a cold sweat, screaming, shaking, unable to catch her breath was par for the course. Last night's nightmare had been no different.<p>

She could see it vividly now, playing in front of her eyes as though she was living it. She could taste his blood in her mouth and hear the crush of breaking bones. She could feel the pain, the searing pain, and smell the sweet stench of imminent death. Tears filled her eyes, her jaw tightened, her body tensed into small spasms at the recollection. He'd been lying unconscious, bound, beat-up and bleeding in the trunk of a white car. She'd tried to get to him, but could only look down from above. She'd called his name, shouted it over and over again, but he hadn't responded and she'd been powerless to help him, powerless to save him. Grissom.

"Sara?" Marcy's worried tone made it through her subconscious, and she refocused on the woman standing in the pool in front of her. "Are you okay?"

Mustering a faint smile Sara nodded her head.

"He'll be there," Marcy said in a kind, reassuring tone. "He's running a little late, that's all. Come on, let's get on."

She gave Marcy another nod but her heart wasn't in her therapy today. Her eyes returned to the entrance to the poolside and that was where they stayed for the remainder of the session. Grissom never turned up. He wasn't waiting for her when she came out of the changing rooms half-an-hour later. He wasn't waiting in her room with a sheepish smile on his face and a carton of ice cream either. At first she tried not to overreact or worry and carried on with her routine as usual, thinking that maybe he'd been called out at a remote crime scene and that was why he hadn't left a message for her.

But the hours passed. He never came or called, and she knew something had to be terribly wrong. But she waited. Late afternoon, frantic with worry, she got an aide to call CSI, only to be told that he wasn't there or at a remote crime scene. She tried home; the answering machine kicked in on the sixth ring. She didn't bother with a message. She asked the aide to look up his cell number on her next-of-kin records, the only one of his numbers she couldn't manage to memorize, but only reached his voicemail. What about Hank, she thought, who was looking after him?

Her pulse was through the roof; tears were rolling down her face by the time she got through to Brass. He was sleeping, she could tell by the grumpy way he muttered his name into the phone as he picked up.

"Jim?" she said, willing the tremor in her voice to subside.

"Sara?" Brass said, surprised, his voice suddenly clear and alert, "Sara, what's wrong?" followed almost immediately by a worried, "Where's Grissom? Isn't he with you?"

"No," she said, crying. "He's not here. He hasn't come. I called the lab, and home. I even tried his cell. He's not picking up! Something's happened to him, I know it. He'd be here otherwise."

There was a pause. Then Brass's voice came muffled and she could imagine he was putting on clothes. "Calm down, Sara, not so fast. I can't understand what you're saying."

Sara took a breath, and then another one and made herself speak very slowly. "He didn't come. He was supposed to be here hours ago, but he didn't come. I thought he'd been delayed with work but…but…" she swallowed the surge of fresh tears.

"Are you alone?" Brass asked.

The peculiarity of his question and anxiety in his voice made her tears dry instantly. He wasn't even going through the pretence of trying to play down her fears as you might expect in the circumstance. "Do you know something?" she said her tone accusatory, her voice coming out small and choked-up. "Where is he?"

"I don't know, Sara. But I will find out, okay?"

"What's happened?" she pleaded helplessly. "Please tell me. Something's happened to him, hasn't it?"

"Are you in your room?"

His non-answer was all the confirmation she needed that he knew something was wrong. She swallowed. "Yes."

"Are you alone?"

"No."

"Good. Make sure it stays that way. And stay indoors. Sara, do you promise me to stay indoors?"

She paused. Did he fear for her safety? "Why?" she asked, her tears gone now replaced by anger.

"Promise me," he said, his tone firm but calm.

"I promise, if you promise to find him. You've got to find him, Jim. Please, find him and bring him back to me."

Brass told her what she needed to hear but she wasn't fooled. He knew more than he was letting on, she was sure of it. When he finished the call, she lifted her eyes to the aide, indicating with a small nod that she could hang up the phone. Her lips pinched as she took a fraught breath, but she wouldn't allow the tears to come again. She would be strong and the next tears she'd cry would be tears of happiness.

She scanned her eyes over the room and looked at her surroundings, wishing she was anywhere else but there. She wanted to be home with Hank. She wanted to be at the lab where she could help find him. Her brother had said that one of her attackers had got away, and the only explanation for Grissom's sudden disappearance was that he'd gone after him. If it was anything else he would have called her, or at least got a message to her.

Grissom was missing. She'd dreamed that he'd been taken hostage and now he was missing.


	49. Chapter 49

Grissom's Mercedes wasn't parked in the street or in the driveway. It wasn't round the side of the house or even inside the garage. Brass knew because he'd craned his neck, standing on tiptoes, checking through one of the porthole-style windows on the garage door. He noticed the security cameras, tracking his movement and idly wondered whether she was watching him. He didn't think she was directly involved in any of it, but he couldn't help wondering whether maybe she was hiding Grissom. And she would, no questions asked.

The question was though: why would Grissom need hiding? Brass wanted to believe his friend had learned his lesson and that his lapse in judgement last time was just a one-off and not par for the course every time there was a threat on Sara's life. Had Grissom snapped a second time?

His own performance to Sara on the phone had been first class but he was already dressed, out of the door and in his car by the time he'd hung up. Immediately he'd called Catherine, telling her of Sara's frantic call and of Grissom's disappearance. He wished he could have played down Sara's fears but he hadn't had the words to lie to her. Catherine's ensuing stunned silence had spoken volume, but they'd agreed she'd go check out the town house while he went to Sara's apartment.

Sara's super hadn't seen anyone in weeks. He hadn't taken the man's word for it, of course, not after the last time, but there had been no signs of Grissom there at all. His second port of call should have maybe been his first, considering who he'd glimpsed at on the photos, and it wasn't one he would admit to liking doing. And that was where he found himself now, feet crunching the gravel as he quickly strode back round to the front of the house.

He rang the bell with no hesitation, yet stood edgily waiting for the door to open. He knew she was in. He could have done this over the phone, in fact he _should_ have done this over the phone, but he didn't trust Heather to tell him the truth. He had no doubts that she'd cover for Grissom, lie for him even, whether Grissom asked her to or not.

After a short moment the lock was turned and the door opened a crack. "Captain Brass," Heather said in a soft voice, surprised.

He made and held eye contact. "Lady Heather. I'm looking for Grissom."

"Grissom?" she said, a frown appearing. "He's not here."

He sighed in impatience, gave her a hard stare, and a wry, knowing smile curling her lip she made to close the door. His hand lifted, pushing against it, keeping it open. "Are you sure?" he asked probingly yet softening his tone a little.

Her gaze narrowed, her head cocking to the side as she read the change in his voice, the pleading for her help and cooperation in his eyes. "Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

His hand dropped from the door and he sighed. "I hope not."

She paused and held his gaze, and he opened his hands in a helpless gesture. He was asking for her help, and it was costing him. She took a moment to look at him, truly look at him and Brass hated the fact that he glanced down, uncomfortable at the scrutiny.

He ran a quick hand over his hair. "I got dressed in a hurry, alright?" he said, more curtly than he would have liked, looking back up.

"He's not here," she repeated quietly, and he knew she was speaking the truth. She opened the door wider. "Would you like to come in and check for yourself?"

Brass showed no hesitation when he said, "Yes, I would."

"What makes you think he is here?" she asked, moving to the side so he could step in. She stood barefoot in jeans and a red tapered blouse, which struck him as at odds with their surroundings and then he realised that the Dominion was uncharacteristically silent. A faint smile of realisation of what he was thinking crossed her face, but she didn't comment.

"When is the last time you saw him?" he asked, testing her truthfulness.

"This morning," she replied in a sigh.

She opened her hand out toward the living room in invitation before closing the front door behind him, and he preceded her there. Classical music was playing softly in the background and she picked up a remote, switching it off. She didn't invite him to sit and he didn't, preferring instead to stay by the door.

"Why did he come?"

The bluntness and private nature of his question caused a brow to rise. She looked away, making herself comfortable in an oversized armchair, and then brought her eyes back up to his. "He came to see how I was."

"Heather," he said, showing his exasperation, "I understand that you want to protect him, but you've got to be straight with me here. Did he come to show you the pictures?"

She stared at him at length. "If you already know the answer to your question, why not be upfront with me?"

Brass opened his mouth to retort but bit his tongue and turned away. His pulse was rising just being near her. God, the woman was infuriating.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, "but I can assure you that I have nothing to do with these photos. Our meeting at the park yesterday was purely a chance encounter." She paused then blew out a breath and he turned back to look at her. "Grissom wanted to know if I'd noticed anything suspicious while I was there, anyone with a camera, anything untoward. I didn't." She gave a faint smile. "My mind was on other things."

"What was he like?"

Her frown returned. "How do you mean?"

"When he came to see you."

Her shoulder lifted. "I was on my way out, and he was in a hurry. He only stayed five minutes. Just long enough to show me the pictures. He asked about the woman who delivered the package, and also the man in the parking lot standing next to his car, if I remembered seeing either at the park, but I couldn't help him."

"Anything else?" he asked.

Her face took on a thoughtful expression and she shook her head.

"Anything at all," he insisted, "even if you don't think it important."

"Grissom said exactly the same thing," she said, a musing smile forming. "He was preoccupied, worried about Sara's safety more than his own. He mentioned a call he got on his cell."

A call? Had Grissom come across some new evidence and kept it to himself? Brass's eyes narrowed. "What call?"

"He didn't say; I'm sorry." She flashed him a tense smile and he nodded his head, grateful that she was cooperating. Then she cocked her head to the side as though she'd only just realised what this visit was about. "You thought he was here," she stated, suddenly fearful. "Why? Has something happened to him?"

"I don't know," he said, his despondency showing in his tone. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"But you're worried enough that you came here."

He gave her a slow nod, asking in the same quiet tone, "Did he say where he was headed next?"

"Yes," she said immediately. "He was going to visit Sara. He mentioned something about helping with her pool therapy."

Brass let out a long sigh as he thought they were back to square one. "He never made it. What time was that?"

Heather's eyes shut. She brought her hand to her face and gave her head a shake, refocusing. "Ten forty-five," she said, reopening her eyes. They betrayed her concern. "I had an appointment at eleven." She sighed. "Sara must be beside herself."

Brass's lips thinned into a smile, appreciative of the concern. "She's only just raised the alarm," he said, "and I wish she'd raised it sooner."

And as Brass drove the most likely route from Heather's to Torrey Pines he wondered where his friend was and why he hadn't thought to check the hospitals sooner.

* * *

><p>Catherine pulled up her car behind the contractor's van outside 2205 Beach Front Drive. Sara's Prius stood in the driveway but not Grissom's Mercedes. Sighing she got out of the car and was following the distant sound of hammering when a shrill female voice yoo-hooed and called her name. Stopping dead in her tracks she looked over her shoulder, turning fully on recognising Mrs Harris, Grissom and Sara's neighbour from across the street.<p>

Pulling off her garden gloves Mrs Harris checked left and right before crossing over to Catherine's side of the road. "Have you come for Hank?" she asked with a wide smile.

Catherine's brow furrowed. "Hank?"

"Mr Grissom said he'd be back for him by one this afternoon, but he never came."

"What time was that?" Catherine asked, checking her tone, mindful not to arouse suspicion that something was amiss.

"I'm not sure. Ten? Ten fifteen, maybe? He was here hurrying poor Hank along…you know to do his business…when I came back from the hair salon. He said he was late for Sara so I offered to walk Hank for him. He's a good dog."

"Where is he now?"

"Who, Mr Grissom?" Mrs Harris asked with a puzzled frown.

Catherine's smile tensed. "No. Hank."

"Oh. In the backyard with Walter. That's my husband."

A shrill grinding sound erupted and Catherine winced, her head turning toward it. She raised her voice slightly. "I…need to have a word with the contractors but I'll come back for him before I leave. Okay?"

Mrs Harris gave a distracted nod. "He's having the house adapted for Sara. For when she comes home. Isn't he the sweetest husband?"

Catherine's couldn't help the amused smile pulling at her lips. She was about to put the neighbour straight about Grissom and Sara's marital status when she thought better of it. She gave a faint nod of acknowledgement and turned away, then stopped. "Mrs Harris, you don't happen to have noticed anything unusual or anyone acting suspicious recently, do you?"

Mrs Harris pursed her face thoughtfully. "No, I can't say that I have. And believe me after what happened last time I keep my eyes open."

"Okay. Thanks," Catherine said, keeping her tone light.

"Why? I thought you'd caught them all and that it was over."

"It is," Catherine lied.

Mrs Harris's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Has something happened to Mr Grissom again?"

Catherine plastered her widest smile. "No. He's…just busy with work, that's all. I'll be back for Hank when―" Her cell rang, interrupting her mid-sentence. She dug the phone out of her pocket, letting out a long breath when she saw Greg's name flash on the display, then turned away without another word, heading toward Grissom's house.

"Sorry," Greg said when she picked up, "I was on the treadmill. What's the 911 for? Where do you want me?"

Catherine succinctly brought Greg up to speed as she walked round to the back of the house. Her account was met with stunned silence and finally a harried, "I'm on my way."

"Ben," Catherine shouted over the noise of the drill inside as she pocketed her phone.

Ben stopped, glancing with a start over his shoulder. His face lit up with a wide, pleasurable grin on seeing Catherine. "Ms Willows," he said, straightening up. He swapped the spanner he was holding for a cloth and wiped his hands on it. He made to extend his hand then thought better of it. "What brings you here at this time of the day? Are you checking up on our work?"

"No," she said, laughing. "I was looking for Grissom actually."

"We didn't see him today. Because of the hours he keeps we're only here in the afternoons, but today he'd already left."

"He's given you your own key to the house?" Catherine said with surprise.

Ben's eyes narrowed. "Should I be offended?" he asked, bursting out in an awkward chuckle.

"No. I'm sorry. It's just that…Grissom's not generally…trusting with people."

"I come recommended," Ben said pointedly, "By you. The fact that my uncle is Sam Vega might have helped a little too."

"Point taken. Mind if I take a quick look inside?" she said, hoping that Grissom had left a clue as to his whereabouts; a message, a name, a phone number or an address on a piece of paper in the trash, she'd take anything.

"Be my guest."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes was all it took Brass to drive to Torrey Pines from Heather's. It was all it would have taken Grissom but somewhere along the way the CSI had changed course and gone missing. Why? Who had called him, and to tell him what? And why had Grissom yet again decided to keep the information to himself and act alone? There were only two possible reasons for his disappearance now. Either he'd located Wallis and committed the unspeakable or he'd been taken hostage a second time. Neither scenarios bore thinking about. And yet Brass was hoping – no, praying with all his might – for the latter. At least then there was still a chance that his friend could be saved – <em>would<em> be saved.

The lack of a PD cruiser in the lot alarmed him. He stopped his car in the ambulance bay and called dispatch, demanding to know why the unit that had been assigned to watching Sara had gone AWOL. Soon, he had Metcalf's worried voice on the line.

"Grissom was pulling into the lot just as the call for the 402 on Industrial came in, so we thought we were clear to go."

Vaguely remembering about the call-out to all units Brass gave out a deep sigh. "What time was that again?"

"A little after 11 am." There was a pause. "11.07 according to my log."

So Grissom had made it to the Centre after all, Brass thought and yet he'd never made it to the pool. Brass put his cell away, wondering where to go from there when a sharp rasp of knuckles on the car window startled him. His head whipped round and frowning on recognising the doctor overseeing Sara's care he pressed the switch to lower the window.

"Captain Brass, you can't park here," Doctor Williamson said, "You can have my spot if you want; I'm on my way out."

Brass followed with his eyes toward where the doctor was pointing and nodded his head.

"Do you have any news on Mr Grissom?" Brass stared at the doctor quizzically, and the doctor smiled. "I was just with Sara."

"How is she?"

"Frantic with worry," Dr Williamson said, his voice showing concern for Sara, "but she is putting on a brave face. Refused any tranquilising medication." He paused, his expression becoming thoughtful. "Do you think his disappearance has anything to do with the information I sent him this morning?"

Brass scanned the area surrounding the car with narrowed eyes. "Why don't you jump in?" he said with a terse smile. Doctor Williamson frowned, then shrugged and walked round to the passenger side of the car, getting in. He set the briefcase he was carrying upright between his legs. "What information?" Brass asked.

"He – Mr Grissom called. This morning at about…half nine maybe? Ten o'clock? It was toward the tail end of my rounds anyway. He was very insistent so they paged me. He wanted me to email him a list of all our female employees – or rather those with access to patients' confidential records."

Brass's brow rose with surprise. "And did you?"

Dr Williamson smiled. "Yes, I did. Or rather I asked my secretary to do it."

"Did he tell you why he wanted this list?"

"No. And I didn't ask either. I assumed it had to do with the heightened security around Sara; he's…how can I put it…rather protective of her, not that anyone can blame him for that after what happened."

Brass gave a thoughtful nod. "Pictures too?"

The doctor's smile returned. "He did indeed ask for pictures. But he was in a hurry and that would have taken longer. So I asked my secretary to put together a more detailed file including photographs which he said he would pick up when he came." He paused, his eyes narrowing in sudden realisation. "I expect he never did."

"Oh, he came," Brass said.

Confusion filled the doctor's face. "I meant, pick up the file."

"Would you let me have this file?"

The doctor's head tilted to the side as he stared at Brass. "Would you care to tell me what this is about? Should I ask you for a warrant? I mean, doing it for Mr Grissom is one thing but if the police is getting involved…"

Brass let out a long breath and scratched his head as he debated whether the doctor could be trusted. Grissom seemed to think so. "We think that Sara's attacker – the remaining one – is back in Vegas. We _know_ he is back in Vegas. It would appear that he isn't operating alone. We have evidence that he has a female accomplice―"

"And you think she works here?"

"Well…it certainly looks like Grissom thinks she does."

Dr Williamson's hand rose to his face. "_All_ our employees are thoroughly screened and come with recommendations, which we check. They have no criminal record – speeding fines and the likes notwithstanding. They are all registered with the Nevada State Department for Public Health – as required by the law. Some of them have been with us for many, many years, Mr Brass."

"I can appreciate that, Doctor."

"I find it hard to believe anyone of them would be involved."

"I will get a warrant but time is of the essence. Grissom's been missing for close to seven hours now, and the sooner I can get started the better."

Dr Williamson hung his head and sighed, then wiped a tired hand over his eyes. Movement in front of his car caught Brass's attention and he turned toward it, staring through the windshield at Greg's puzzled face. The two shared a long look and a nod, and he watched Greg disappear inside the building. Then he turned back toward the doctor who looked to have come to a decision.

"Thank you," he said. "I appreciate your cooperation. If you don't mind I'll also need access to all your CCTV footage."

* * *

><p>"Sara, I came as soon as I heard," Greg said, breathless, on entering her room.<p>

He smiled and shoved the key card into his back pocket, then paused and frowning took a moment to study her. She wore her black sports jacket, a CSI ball cap and a determined look on her face, a look he knew too well and had seen a million and one times before. Suddenly he was filled with foreboding as he realised she'd been about to leave.

He swallowed back his dread. "What's going on, Sara? Where are you going?"

Sara didn't answer. She pushed the lever on the arm of her chair, moving forward to the door. Then she tapped a clumsy hand over a push pad on the wall that he had never noticed before, reversed her chair and waited. He heard the lock being unlatched and he had to jump out of the way when the door automatically began to open.

With an expert jiggle of her joystick Sara straightened her wheels and manoeuvred the chair over the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder.

"You coming, or what?"


	50. Chapter 50

"Sara, wait!"

There was urgency in Greg's voice, urgency and fear. He caught up with her at a jog, and swivelling round braced himself against impact as he stopped right in front of her. Sara reluctantly brought the chair to a stop, only just avoiding bumping into his legs.

Greg's eyes narrowed as they lifted to a point beyond her and then back down to her face. "This is the back way out," he stated with puzzlement. "Where are you going?"

"We haven't got time for this, Greg," she said with impatience.

"We're going to make time." His tone was firm, decisive.

Sara's eyes flicked to the camera ball recording their movement. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm and not give the game away to the people most certainly monitoring her every moves, and refocused on Greg. Her tone was firmer. "Not here."

"I'm not moving until you tell me," he stated levelly, not budging from in front of her.

Her chin lifted defiantly. "I'm going to go find Grissom."

Greg's face fell and he blew out a deep breath. "And where are you going to look, huh? Brass and Catherine are on the case," he said earnestly. "They've already checked all the obvious places." He caught himself, aiming for a lighter tone. "Besides, I'm sure there's a simple explanation for his disappearance. Maybe the battery on his cell ran out, or he left it behind somewhere. Or he's simply out of range. The reception's not so good out there in the desert."

Sara gave a sigh of impatience at his diversionary tactics, however well-meaning they were. "Something's happened to him, Greg, and you know it."

Greg opened his mouth but no words came out. "Let's get back to your room," he tried again, softly. "I'll call Catherine and get an update. She's at the townhouse, checking things there."

Sara shook her head resolutely. "This isn't up for negotiation, Greg. I can't be here when he's out there."

"Sara―"

The tears threatened to come again. "You don't understand," she snapped tersely, cutting him short. She stared at him intently as she tried to convey the urgency of the situation and enunciated each word as clearly as her current anxious state allowed. "I can't stay here, Greg. I can't stay here when he's out there, hurt."

Greg's eyes narrowed suddenly. "How do you know he's hurt?"

Her face darkened and she clamped her jaw shut.

He sighed. "Sara, you going out there isn't a good idea."

"Either you move, or I'll run you over. But I'm doing this."

"No, Sara. I won't let you. I'm sorry, but I can't let you do this."

"Why not?" she challenged heatedly. "Give me a good reason why I can't. And don't you dare mention my disabilities."

"I'm calling Brass," he said. "He'll talk some sense into you."

"He's here?" she asked with surprise.

"Yeah," Greg said in a sigh. "He's out front talking to…your doctor."

Why would Brass be here instead of looking for Grissom, she wondered, and why would he be talking to Dr Williamson?

"I tell you what," Greg tried again. "Why don't we go and see him? I'm sure he'll have some news."

Sara gave a shake of the head. Her anger and determination returned. "No."

Greg stared at her with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Sara, it's not safe," he said and sighed, then took a deep breath. "Out there isn't safe for you."

"Because I'm in a wheelchair."

His eyes scrunched shut in exasperation. "No, of course not."

"Then, tell me the truth. Why isn't it safe for me to go out there?"

Greg held her stare levelly for a moment before dropping his eyes to the floor.

"Don't bother," she said. "I know anyway."

His head whipped up, his eyes meeting hers questioningly, but she flicked the lever on the chair, surging forward and Greg had no choice but to jump back out of the way. "How are you going to get there," he asked, taking off at a jog after her, "wherever _there_ is?"

Sara didn't answer. She just carried on down the corridor, only briefly slowing down to let an automatic door open before exiting the building and following a series of concrete paths all the way round to the service entrance at the back. She stopped, scanned her gaze over the utility vehicles parked there until she located the one she was after – a certified wheelchair adapted taxicab she'd had Maggie, a new friend of hers at the Centre, call. A faint smile formed as she thought of Grissom inadvertently giving her the idea for her escape plan**.**However foolhardy her plan appeared to be on the outside she knew it was the right thing to do, for her _and_ for Grissom, because she was sure that if given the chance she could help find him.

"Sara, stop," Greg tried again, his voice pleading now, "please stop. I can't let you do this."

"This isn't up to you."

Greg's expression became beseeching as he ran out of arguments. "This isn't what Grissom would want," he said, "He'd want you to stay here, where you're safe. I'll stay with you."

His words gave her pause and she blew a breath. "I'm not safe here, Greg." She stared at him intently, then gave him a small smile. "I don't think I'm safe here."

Greg swallowed, and she could tell he was giving her words the consideration they deserved. He looked up and slowly scanned his gaze over their surroundings, suddenly watchful and suspicious.

"Trust me," she said, "I know what I'm doing. I've thought this through, and I know where to go. That's where Grissom would want me to go and wait for him."

"Where?"

Her brow arched and she couldn't help the smile that curled her lip. "You'll see soon enough. Come on," she said, "We need to get moving before it's too late."

"Okay," he said in a sigh. "But you need to be totally upfront with me."

"Miss Sidle?" a man's voice said, causing Greg to whip round with surprise. "It's all ready for you."

Sara smiled, nodding her thanks. She manoeuvred the chair down the sloping sidewalk onto the waiting area where the taxi was parked and around to the back of it. The rear door was open, the platform that would hoist her and her chair up waiting at the ready. She wasn't exactly sure what to do, but there was no time to dither. She lined up her wheels, carefully loading onto the platform and the driver pressed the control, raising it up. As soon as the chair was secured Greg climbed in beside her.

"Where to?" the driver asked as he took his place at the wheel.

"3057 Westfall Avenue," Sara said in her best speech, and she felt Greg's fingers take hold of hers and give them a tight squeeze. She turned toward him, a wide grin dancing on her face. "Not bad for a person with disabilities, huh?"

A reluctant smile curling his lip Greg gave his head a shake of disbelief. "Grissom would be proud."

"_Will_ be proud," she amended quietly, and he nodded.

"Tell me one thing," he said as the driver pulled off. "If I hadn't turned up when I did, would you have gone on your own?"

"What do you think?"

Greg smiled and shook his head all at once. "I'm glad I turned up when I did then."

"Me too." She gave a start as the taxi drove past the front of the building. "You need to call them. Tell them I am fine and with you. But don't tell them where we're going."

"Damn! Brass!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand out of hers. His eyes flicked back toward the front entrance as he reached for his cell. "He's going to kill me, and then you."

Sara giggled, and turned away to watch the passing scenery as Greg breathed a sigh of relief when he was sent straight to Brass's voicemail. Her eyes were everywhere all at once, taking in their surroundings, looking down every side street they passed, searching crowds on sidewalks or crossing the streets on front of them when they stopped at red lights, for Grissom. She knew it was futile, but what else was there to do?

"You said Griss was hurt," Greg said in a quiet voice after a moment, "What makes you say that?"

Her eyes lowering from the road Sara swallowed then turned toward Greg and shrugged. "I just do."

"Sara," Greg said in his best reassuring tone, "we don't know that anything's happened to him yet. He might have―"

Greg stopped talking abruptly and Sara gave him a small smile, guessing he'd been about to reveal more than he should. "―gone after Wallis by himself – again?" she finished for him, her shoulder rising at the look of shock that filled his face.

"You know?" he gasped.

"Not everything," she replied, "but enough to be able to fill in some of the blanks."

"But how? He's been so careful. We've all been so careful."

"Some, I kind of think I remember, the rest my brother told me."

Her words gave him pause, and he nodded his head in understanding.

"Last night I dreamed that―I had this nightmare," she went on in a sigh. The images of a beaten-up Grissom flooded her again and she swallowed. "I-I saw him as clearly as I see you now, but I couldn't get to him. He was…bleeding and unconscious, locked up in the trunk of a white car. I know what you're thinking," she added quickly, giving a nervous laugh, her shoulder lifting self-consciously, "but I…"

Greg whipped his eyes away but not before she'd glimpsed shock in them and she frowned.

"What do you know?" she questioned, her tone hardening as she realised that yet again she was deliberately being kept in the dark. "Don't insult me, Greg! And don't insult my intelligence. I'm not this fragile invalid that needs protecting! I'm fed up―" She caught the driver's startled face in the rearview mirror and when she realised she was almost shouting lowered her voice to a pleading whisper. "Tell me, Greg, please, you're my friend and I need to know."

Greg gave a deep sigh. "When you got hurt Grissom…well…he lost it, a little, and he went after…" he swallowed and she reached across for his hand, "your attackers by himself."

Everything was still so muddled in her mind, recollections came at the oddest of times, in the strangest of scenarios; sometimes they came in the night and she couldn't always make those out from her dreams, and yet the dreams always felt so very real that she couldn't help thinking they were in fact recollections. "He got taken, didn't he?" she said. "That's what I saw in my dream. And that's how he got injured."

Greg's eyes lowered and he gave her a small nod of the head. The rest of the journey was spent in silence with Sara working very hard at curbing her growing anxiety and the dark depressing thoughts that kept creeping into her head. Soon they were at CSI. The driver helped Sara disembark and Greg paid him the fare despite her insistence that she had money to do it. She turned her chair around and ran wide eyes up and down the glass-fronted building. Everything looked so familiar and yet no particular memory jumped out at her. Suddenly she didn't feel quite so apprehensive, her fears over Grissom's wellbeing slightly appeased by simply being there. She felt like she was coming home after a long journey, and she knew she'd been right to come.

"There's an access ramp over there," Greg said, pointing.

"I know," she said, and without conscious thought manoeuvred her chair inside with Greg walking alongside her.

Sara heard every single gasp of surprise, every single whisper, and felt every stare. She didn't stop to acknowledge her former colleagues. She simply advanced solemnly down the corridors, moving through the lab, following a route as known to her as the back of her hand. She stopped suddenly, her eyes locking to Grissom's office further down the corridor, its door shut.

She heard voices a little away, hushed voices talking earnestly that stood out from all the other regular lab noises, and turned toward them. Nick, Warrick and Catherine were sat at the break room table deep in conversation. Piles of documents, printouts and crime scene photographs were scattered all around in front of them and she could well imagine they made up part of her own case file. They didn't see her.

At that moment Catherine raised her hand at her two colleagues, ending their intense discussion. "Okay, the what-ifs won't get us anywhere," she said. "Let's just go through what we know for sure and work from there."

"Well, we _know_ Wallis is behind this," Nick said. "The handwriting on the envelope matches the signature on his police statement from when Brass arrested him before."

Warrick nodded his head, piping up with, "We also know a woman is involved – actively involved – and that Grissom suspects she works at Torrey Pines."

"Or maybe," Catherine countered, "this woman _knows_ someone who works there."

Sara glanced toward Greg and they shared a knowing look, and Sara was glad she'd insisted on leaving the Centre.

"Sofia's working through the list of names," Nick said, "starting with Caucasian females under thirty years old, but even so the list is long. So unless we can narrow it down…" his words trailed off but everyone knew what he meant, including Sara.

"What about CCTV from the lot?" Warrick asked.

"Brass is on it," Catherine replied, stifling a yawn.

"I've read over all the statements," Nick said, shuffling the papers in front of him, "checked all the info we got on Wallis and his brother but I can't find anything about a woman, besides Mc…" He looked up suddenly, McKay's name dying on his lips when he met Sara's intent gaze. His eyes lifted to Greg next to her, darkening questioningly. Catherine and Warrick looked up toward him with matching frowns then turned their heads as they followed his gaze to the doorway and beyond where Sara was.

"What about when you went to the house?" Sara asked, moving her chair inside the break room. "Did you find anything there?" She stared at Catherine beseechingly as she spoke, pleading with her eyes not to be shut out of the investigation.

After a moment of hesitation Catherine sighed and shook her head. "No, I didn't. Except for Gil's laptop which he'd left open and connected to the printer." She patted her hand to it on the table. "It's password protected, I'm afraid. I've tried all the obvious ones, but…no luck. Archie's on his way." She paused, adding tentatively, "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know what's going on," Sara said, her eyes lowering to the laptop. She stared at it. Then frowning she stared at it some more. "Try Vanessa," she said, "Vanessa virginiensis for the American Lady. It's a butterfly. I remember him telling me once that…" She looked up suddenly, stopping in her tracks when she found everyone staring at her very strangely, almost pityingly and she realised that they hadn't understood a word of what she'd told them.

"I'm sorry, Sara," Catherine said with a small smile. She shared a look with Warrick who gave her a small shrug. "We didn't catch that."

Sara swallowed and made herself speak very slowly. "His password," she said, "It's Vanessa – vir-gi-nien-sis."

"How can you know…that?" Nick asked with puzzlement as Catherine opened Grissom's laptop.

Sara shrugged, her eyes flicking from Catherine's fingers as they typed to Nick's bewildered face. "I just do."

"Okay," Catherine said, looking up. "You sure? Because it's not working."

"It's Latin, right?" Warrick said. "Did you spell it right?"

Catherine pulled a face but she cleared the previous entry and tried again, spelling each word out loud as she typed them. "Nope."

Doubts filled Sara. She glanced up at Greg. He was watching her and he gave her a soft it-doesn't-matter smile. "I'm sorry," she said, disappointed. "I really thought-"

"Maybe Griss changed the password," Warrick suggested diplomatically.

"Or it's case sensitive," Nick said. He reached for the laptop and turned it toward him. "Let me try." A frown creasing his brow he tried a few permutations then a wide smile broke across his face. "Bingo!"

"Way to go, girl," Warrick said, a wide grin dancing on his lips. "Way to go."

"Look into his email account," Catherine said, "See what else there is in there, besides the list." She paused abruptly and turned toward Sara. "I'm sorry, Sara, but we got to do this."

"It's okay," Sara said, managing a small smile.

Greg put his hand on her shoulder. "We're going to find him," he told her quietly.

Lapsing into silence she watched with bated breath as Nick's fingers tapped away at Grissom's laptop. "What about Hank?" she asked suddenly.

Catherine smiled. "He's at mine, with Lindsey."

"There's been nothing interesting since the email Grissom received from Doctor Williamson's office this morning," Nick said, leaning back and Sara manoeuvred her chair a little closer in order to see the screen better. He paused and smiled at her, then scooted his chair over to make space. "It's good that you're here, Sar," he said softly. "I miss having you around."

"Yeah, me too," Warrick said, pushing to his feet and coming to stand behind the two.

"Check his recent documents folder," Catherine said.

Nick returned his attention to the screen and tapped a few more keys. Sara's brow furrowed as he opened a file called _Torrey Pines_, and she watched intently as he slowly scrolled down a long list of names and personal details of Torrey Pines employees on the page. Sara inched her face closer, squinting at the small writing, her face registering interest on recognising some of the names – all female she noticed and some of them highlighted.

Warrick read out a few names from the highlighted list. "Well," he said in a sigh, "he got as far as we did - Female Caucasian and under thirty."

"Even I know some of the women on this list," Greg said.

"Sara?" Nick said. "What about you? Do any of these names stand out?"

Sara's eyes were glued to the screen and she struggled to accept the notion that someone who had helped look after her on a daily basis for close to two months would be involved in this.

"Sure," she said darkly, "they all do the things I can't do for myself anymore." A hand fell on her shoulder, she didn't know whose, and squeezed supportively. She took in a deep breath. "Do you think he'd go after one of these women so he could get to Wallis?" She looked up and stared at each one of her friends' faces questioningly. Her voice broke. "Like he did last time?"

All eyes turned toward Greg. "Don't look at me," he defended quickly, "She already knew."

"No," Catherine said in response to Sara's question, "not this time. He told me he wouldn't and I believe him."

Sara gave Catherine a small, relieved smile. "Me too," she said in a small voice. Her smile vanished. "I just wish I'd call someone sooner."

"We'll get him back," Brass said from the door, quietly yet positively. All eyes turned toward him and he waved a CD at them before nodding his head toward the A/V lab and pushing off the doorframe. The CSI's scrambled to their feet after him. Sara didn't move.

"You're not coming?" Greg asked.

Sara blew out a breath. "I am."

When she and Greg got there the CCTV footage of Torrey Pines parking lot was already playing in real speed on the wall screen. The date and timestamp matched what they already knew. A black SUV passed the Mercedes as it crawled down aisle C looking for a space. A blue Sedan backed out of a spot further on and Grissom took it. A person wearing a ball cap, jeans and a hooded pullover sweatshirt and with their hands in the pouch pocket entered the bottom of the screen, looking left and right as they trotted up to the passenger side of the Mercedes before quickly getting in. There was a ten-second time lapse where nothing happened and then the Mercedes slowly reversed out of the spot, leaving the way it had come.

"That's all there is," Brass said in a subdued tone, "and then we lose them. The footage from the other cameras shows Grissom's car but not the perp."

"She knows where the cameras are," Warrick exclaimed.

"How did she know what time he'd turn up though?" Nick asked. "We know he was running late."

"She was waiting," Sara said. "She knew he'd be coming and she was waiting." She paused and shook her head dejectedly. "Everybody knew he was coming."

"They must have known about the list," Catherine said.

"The secretary?" Brass asked.

"Or the good doctor," Warrick chipped in.

"No," Sara said with a shake of the head.

"Same type of clothes and hat," Catherine mused quietly, "But it's too far and high an angle to get a better view."

"I can work on that until Archie shows," Warrick said.

"At least now we know he didn't just take off."

Sara's head shot up. She was going to challenge Brass on his comment when Catherine's words struck a chord with her. "As what?" she asked with a frown. "Same type of clothes as what?"

Catherine froze and exchanged a look with Brass.

"Same as what?" Sara asked again, growing impatient.

"Gil got a package," Catherine said at last. "Addressed to him and delivered by hand here at CSI."

Before Sara could ask, "What package?" Catherine had taken Warrick's place at the computer and with a couple of strokes of the keyboard retrieved the still shots of the woman who had made the drop the previous night.

Sara moved closer, squinting up at the screen. "I recognise the logo on the sweatshirt," she said in a gasp. "I mean…I think I do." She looked away from the screen and round the expectant faces in the room. "She works the early shift. Maria, her name is." Greg did a double take and ran out of the room. Sara's voice began to tremble. "She feeds me breakfast. She washes me, changes me. She's…nice to me. I don't understand."

Brass's hand dropped to her shoulder, and she swallowed. At that moment Greg sprinted back into the room, Grissom's laptop in hand. "There's only one Maria on the list," he panted while Nick moved to another computer ready to check the woman's name against the various databases. "Maria Suarez. She gave an address in Enterprise."

"Sara you're going to have to stay here, all right?" Brass instructed.

Sara nodded. Without a look to her friends crowding behind Nick at the computer she left the A/V lab, following the familiar path to Grissom's office. She acted on autopilot, her mind unconsciously remembering and repeating actions she'd carried out hundreds of times before. The door was closed, and a hand appeared out of nowhere, pushing the handle down.

She went in, stopping at the threshold, and scanned her eyes over every square inch, over every exhibit on display, his rows of books and finally his desk. She could feel his presence, his aura nearby; she could smell him all around. She closed her eyes and saw him everywhere; sitting at his desk working, thinking, talking on the phone, or standing by the shelves, smiling or frowning as he worked on his experiments.

Her eyes filled, her jaw quivered. She could see herself too, angry and arguing with him or crying with frustration over a case, but also laughing and joking, or listening to him with the same intent and fascination as she'd always done. They'd get to him in time, she told herself, and swallowed. The alternative was simply unthinkable.

"Go help find him," she told Greg in a barely audible murmur, glancing up over her shoulder.

"No," he said, and closed the door after them. "I'm staying here. With you."

* * *

><p>AN: I think I might have got a little carried away with the detail in the middle, I'm sorry. I just really enjoyed writing the team together. I hope it read okay.


	51. Chapter 51

The soft and familiar hand stroking his sweaty brow slowly brought him back to consciousness. His breathing was raspy, laboured, the still, stifling air trapped inside the basement he was being kept prisoner in slowly cooking him to death. He never saw Wallis, or the baseball bat that swung at him as soon as he stepped into the house, a single blow to the side of the head that had him on the ground faster than it took the Mercedes to peel off out of this hell hole. All was quiet now, except for the pounding in his head crushing his skull with every beat.

He was on his side, lying on a dirty thin mattress that smelled of damp and mould. His lips were cracked, sore, tasting of salt and blood when he licked them. He was so thirsty. He tried to open his eyes but they were sealed shut and prising them open took all his strength. It was dark all around, night time, he figured when he finally got his eyelids working. Last he remembered the June sun had been shining high in the sky, burning the back of his head as he walked like a man on death row toward the house. How long had he been out for the count? A few hours? A day? Longer?

Lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, tasting of love, of home, breathing a shot of much needed fresh air into his lungs. Sara, he thought, the shadow of a smile flickering across his face. He stirred, his lips parting instinctively, seeking hers in a low mumble of relief.

"Hey," she whispered softly, her lips vibrating against his skin as she pulled back from him.

"Sara."

"Don't talk," she said, "You must try to keep your strength until help gets here. Brass and the guys are on their way. It won't be for much longer."

"They found Maria?"

Sara nodded her head. "I recognised the logo on the sweatshirt."

His expression darkened as he understood the implications of what she was saying. He swallowed. "You okay?"

She gave him a soft smile and a nod. "I did exactly what you said I should."

"That's my girl. Make sure you stay there, alright?" He tried reaching up to touch her face but found he couldn't. "And don't start poking your nose in my things." Sara let out a giggle that warmed his heart and he closed his eyes. "Promise me to stay safe, okay?"

"Greg's with me."

The nod Grissom gave made his eyes clench with pain. "I thought he would. Play nice with him, you know he's no match for you." His words came in raspy mumbles, barely audible. He took a few slow breaths until the worst of the pain had subsided and when he reopened his eyes he was staring into the most loving and tender look he'd ever seen. "I'm sorry," he said, tears forming, "But she had a gun on me. Said that if I didn't do as she said she'd…go after you. I had no choice, Sara, I'm sorry."

Slowly she raised his head, placing it on her lap. "Sshhh…" she soothed, her hand returning to his brow and stroking. "I know."

"I don't think she'll find her way back to this place," he said.

"She will. Brass will make sure she does."

"Wallis twisted her head. She didn't know what she was getting herself into."

"Neither did you."

He sighed, and tried moving his arm again but to no avail. One was trapped under his body, and he realised the other was raised, twisted at an angle, cuffed to a pipe. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "Oh, I knew, Sara. I knew from the beginning it would come to this."

"Brass will be here soon. You just hang in there."

Grissom became agitated. "Tell Brass not to come, that the house is..." his words, barely audible murmurs, broke off in a coughing fit.

"Shh…" she soothed, "It doesn't matter. Brass will figure it out."

"I miscalculated everything," he went on in a hoarse whisper after a while. "By then there was no turning back." He began to shiver, teeth clattering noisily. "I'm cold."

He felt the mattress dip as she lay down and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He moved his arm to take hold of her hands forgetting that he couldn't. He let out a low moan of pain.

"Don't move," she said, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder then nestled the side of her face against it.

He closed his eyes, surrendering to the immediate feeling of love and wellbeing that surged through him. He'd wait; he'd wait in her arms for fate to take its course.

"You've gone and done it now, haven't you?" she said quietly.

He felt tears rise. "I'm sorry."

"I love you," she said.

The tears came, stinging his eyes. "Not marrying you when I had the chance is my biggest regret." He paused and leaned his head back, pressing against her warmth, feeding off her strength, relishing what would be their last moment together. "I had everything set up with the department," he said after a while, "so that you're taken care of if…when."

He heard her gasp and felt her warm tears wound their way down his neck. "No, Gil. That's not how this is going to end. We haven't got this far, you and me, to give up now."

"I'm not giving up, but I can't let Brass get killed. This is my mess." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; sleep was claiming him again. "I need to finish what I started, Sara; what I should have finished last time. It's the only way."

* * *

><p>The address in Enterprise was in a working class neighbourhood. It wasn't the best in the Vegas area but it certainly wasn't the worst Brass had seen either. The smell of Mexican food wafted out of open windows through to his nostrils, reminding him he hadn't had anything to eat since...well, forever. Children toys littered the well-tended front yard and a battered third generation Camaro sat in the driveway. Brass strode past it, automatically checking the interior before making his way to the Suarez's front door. He motioned for two officers to go round to the back of the house then checked left and right, nodding his head at the officers already standing by on either side of him. He wasn't taking any chances.<p>

Maria Suarez, it turned out, was a twenty-year-old girl with a record as clean as a whistle. The eldest of four, she still lived at home with mom and dad. Even her parents' records, Mexicans who had legally worked their way to a green card, didn't have a single black mark on them. No obvious connections to either Wallis brothers, or McKay, had been found. His gut told him they wouldn't find Grissom there, but so far Maria Suarez was the only lead they had.

His hand over the Glock on his hip Brass cupped his ear to the door and listened for a few seconds, frowning at the sound of a cartoon playing loudly in the background. He gave out a short sigh and banged the back of a heavy fist on the door**. **"Las Vegas Police," he shouted to be heard over the television noise, "Open the door."

He waited, and was about to knock a second time when a lock was turned and the door opened a crack, the scared face of a girl of around ten staring up at him. Catching his men's eyes he shook his head. His hand remained on the bulge on his hip.

"Hi," he said in a soft voice. "We're…looking for Maria. Is she in?"

The girl cast a fearful glance over her shoulder then looked back at him and shook her head. Another face appeared pushing its way through the first girl's legs and stared up at him with wide startled eyes. The little girl who couldn't have been older than two or three was dressed in faded pyjamas, ready for bed. Unaware of what was happening she smiled up at him, showing two neat rows of pearly white baby teeth.

"Are your parents home?" he asked in the same tone, bringing his eyes back up to the first girl. The warrant he had on Maria Suarez authorised him to enter the premises and use all necessary force to arrest her and yet he refrained from barging his way in.

"Sir?" an officer called from behind him.

He turned, looking over his shoulder at Officer Davies holding the suspect by the upper arm, her hands cuffed behind her back. Her eyes were downcast, shiny with tears.

"We got her at the back door," Davies said. "She gave herself up."

"Ria!" the younger of the two girls cried out.

Brass turned back just in time to see the toddler run down the front steps and wrap herself around her sister's legs. He let out a long sigh, indicating with his head for someone to go prise her off while they took Maria in.

"Maria Suarez?" he asked.

Maria's eyes remained averted but she nodded her head.

"Your parents out?"

She gave another nod.

"Is there someone, a neighbour maybe, who can look after the little ones?"

"My brother's inside," she said, looking up for the first time. No amount of make-up in the world could cover her fat lip and blackened eye. "In his room, doing his homework," and answering his next question before he'd asked it, she added, "He's got his headphones on."

"How old is he?"

"Sixteen."

Brass looked back toward the door but the girl who'd answered it had disappeared back in. "Maria Suarez," he said, turning back to address her, "You're under arrest for the abduction of Gil Grissom." By the time he'd read her Miranda rights her brother was at the door, headphone around his neck, looking shocked and bewildered.

"¿La policía? ¿María, qué pasa?"

"Llame a papa. Me están deteniendo."

"She's under arrest," Brass told the brother. "We got a warrant to search this house."

"He's not here," Maria said, finding her voice at last. "Leave them alone, they have nothing to do with this. Please, they don't know anything."

"But clearly you do," Brass said. "You can help yourself by telling me where he is now. Where did you take him?"

Maria's eyes lowered to the ground and Brass knew that shame prevented her from talking to him and admitting to what she'd done in front of her family. He covered the distance to her and grabbed her other arm, turning her toward the patrol cars.

"Leave her alone," the toddler said in her baby voice, struggling against her sister's tight hold. "Leave her alone!"

"¿María?" her brother said. "What are they talking about? Where are they taking you?"

"Lo siento," Maria said, looking over her shoulder at her brother. "Llame a papa, por favor."

"Come on, we've wasted enough time as it is, let's go."

Nick stayed behind to wait for the parents and process the house for Maria's clothes and hats and anything pertinent to her involvement in Grissom's disappearance or to his whereabouts. Catherine rode back with Brass all sirens blaring. Twenty minutes later they sat in the interrogation room at PD across from a shaking Maria and her court-appointed representative. This time Brass wasn't cutting any corners and would be doing everything by the book.

Brass eyed the fearful woman with careful consideration. She seemed meek, clearly on the edge and barely keeping it together, but he was no one's fool. She knew where Grissom was. He needed to tread carefully though or she'd clam up and waste them more precious time. He caught Catherine's eye and nodded that he was ready to start.

"What happened, Maria?" he asked, his voice calm, enquiring. "You're a good girl. You have a job you love. You live at home, help out with your brother and sisters when you parents are at work, help out with the bills even. Because that's where they are now, isn't it, at work?" He didn't wait for an answer to proceed. "You do good by everyone. Even Sara says you were good to her."

At the mention of Sara's name, Maria's head lifted from looking down for the first time since entering the room.

He met and held her watery gaze. "You look after people and you're good at it. So, what happened?"

Maria swallowed, but kept her mouth shut.

"As is it," Brass said, "we've got you on one count of abduction. I mean, there's no point denying it, we got it all on tape."

"No," Maria replied. "What you got is someone looking like me getting into his car."

"How do you know what we have?" Catherine snapped, then paused suddenly in her tracks. "You didn't think you'd get caught, did you?" she went on, "You didn't think we could trace all this back to you. That's why you were home putting the little ones to bed, acting like normal, like nothing happened. We got to you just in time, didn't we? Another day and you'd have been gone. I mean, Grissom wasn't meant to work it out so quickly, was he? That must have put a spanner in the works."

Maria held Catherine's eyes for a moment before looking down to her lap. Brass could feel Catherine bristling next to him, itching to get a result. He cast a look in the attorney's direction and as pre-agreed she had a quick word in her client's ear, offering leniency in exchange for information.

"So where is Grissom?" he asked, cutting to the chase.

A shoulder lifted. "I don't know."

The muscles in Brass's jaw twitched in irritation. "How did you know Grissom was on to you?" he asked, trying a new angle.

There was a long pause. The attorney had another word in her ear and Maria turned and stared at her silently for a long time. The latter gave her a gentle encouraging nod and Maria sighed. "Marisa told me," she said turning back toward Brass and Catherine.

Brass's brow lifted and he shared a look with Catherine. "Marisa?"

"She's Doctor Williamson's secretary."

Brass made a note of the name on a piece of paper.

"She isn't involved," Maria said quickly, almost panicky, "We're friends and we were talking and she just happened to mention it. I mean, it struck her as strange that the police would want everyone's personal details."

"And you told Wallis," he stated, rather than asked.

She fixed him with a stare, then swallowed and nodded her head.

"So what?" Catherine interjected impatiently. "You had a gun on him?"

Maria shook her head briskly. "No, I didn't." She met Brass's eyes. "But he thought I did." Her eyes darted to Catherine and then back to Brass's face. "He didn't resist. He didn't even try to talk me down, or anything. He just said, 'Where to?' It was like he was expecting it, like he knew I was coming."

Brass's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Before he could ask his next question Catherine jumped in. "So you're telling us Grissom just…went with you?" Her voice betrayed her own shock and disbelief.

Maria shrugged. "Yeah, he did."

"Oh, this is bull!" Catherine exclaimed, standing up abruptly and leaning forward, hands flat on the table.

"Catherine," Brass said in a warning tone. He waited for her to turn away and calm down to continue. "I apologise for my colleague's outburst," he said, willing to play good cop if it got him the results he needed. "But you got to see it from our point of view. Grissom's life hangs in the balance and he would appear you're not being forthright with us."

"I'm telling you the truth," Maria said.

"Okay, so maybe you want to turn that way," he said shortly, jerking his head toward the two-way mirror, "and tell Sara that. She's watching."

Brass knew that Sara was safe in Grissom's office, but Maria didn't. Her head whipped round toward the mirror, eyes wide with fear and pain as she mouthed, "I'm sorry."

"Come on, Maria," Brass said his voice rising, growing in impatience, "help yourself by helping us."

Maria turned back toward Brass. "He said that he'd do whatever it took as long as Sara wasn't hurt. That's all he was bothered about." Tears filled her eyes and she turned back toward the mirror. "I could never hurt Sara. I could never hurt anyone."

Brass sighed as he struggled to get a measure of the girl. Either she was very naïve and had fallen for the wrong guy, believing his lies and doing his dirty bidding, or she was a wicked liar.

"But surely you realised _why_ Wallis wanted Grissom," Catherine cut in heatedly. "You knew it was revenge for what happened when Sara got hurt."

"Jimmy had nothing to do with what happened to Sara," Maria exclaimed heatedly.

Brass's brow rose. "Didn't he?"

Her expression registered surprise. She wiped the back of her hand over each eye in turn then stared at Brass for a long time as though weighing her options. "He said that Grissom was responsible for his brother's death," she said at last. "And some other woman's too. That he ruined his life, and that's why he wanted revenge."

"Is Grissom with Wallis now?" Brass asked.

Maria's eyes averted to the trembling hands on her lap and she nodded her head.

"Where is he being kept?"

She looked up. "I told you, I don't know."

Brass's tone hardened a notch. "You don't know? What do you mean you don't know?"

"All I did was read directions to an old farmhouse in the desert. Jimmy had written everything down on a piece of paper. I'd never been to it before."

"Do you still have that piece of paper?" Brass cut in, already knowing the answer would be 'no'.

She shook her head and swallowed. "I mean we always met at mine when my parents were at work. He was real nice to me at first. Boys normally don't look at me twice. _He_ did; he made me feel special. He took an interest in my work, asked about the patients. Then he just wanted to know about Sara."

"Did you vandalise Grissom's car?" Brass asked, changing tack.

A look of confusion crossed Maria's face. "What? No! All I did was get him a copy of Sara's medical records and deliver the package. That's all, I swear." Her tears were falling freely now and sniffing she wiped at them with her sleeve. "When I said I wouldn't help him with the abduction, he turned nasty." She tilted her face toward them to show her bruise. "Said he'd hurt Lucia if I didn't do as he said."

"Lucia?"

"My baby sister. Said he only needed me to do this one last thing for him, and then that I'd never see him again. I had no choice."

Brass stared at her battered face then shared a staggered look with Catherine. Was she playing them? If she was she was a damn good actress and had the bruises to back up her claims. One way or the other, it didn't matter as long as she took them to Wallis, and Grissom.

"Okay," he said in a sigh, quickly running out of patience. "Let's get back to that house in the desert you took Grissom to. Do you think you can take us there? Which way did you head out of town?"

"We went south on the I-15."

Brass gave a nervous laugh. "As far as the state line?"

She shook her head. "We stopped for gas," she said suddenly.

"You stopped for _gas_?" he repeated with disbelief.

Maria nodded her head. "I thought it was a trick at first, that he'd try to make a run for it or raise the alarm but he just acted normal. Gassed up then paid with his credit card. Maybe you can check that."

Catherine was one step ahead, already on the phone and making the call to get a warrant for Grissom's credit card records. Grissom had left them a clue, maybe there were more to be found. Brass took in and let out a deep, deep breath. At least now they were going somewhere.

"Jimmy said they had a score to settle," she went on, "and it seemed like Mr Grissom was happy to go settle it."

Brass's mind was racing. "What about Grissom's car?" he said. "Where is it now?"

"I drove it back to Vegas and left it in Pinewood."

No wonder the BOLO hadn't yielded anything, Brass thought, there probably wasn't anything left of it. "His cell?"

Maria's eyes lowered. "I tossed it."

"Okay. That's how we're going to play it," Brass said, pushing to his feet. "You're coming with us and we're going to drive the same route. And you're going to pray that you remember the way because if we're too late… and Grissom is dead and Wallis once again in the wind, it will all be on you and you will go down for a long, long time."

Her arms tightly wrapped around herself Maria sniffed and nodded her head. Brass looked up beyond her, catching the officer by the door's eye and nodded at him to get her ready. They had wasted enough time already.

_Hold on, buddy_, he thought, _hold on a little longer. We're coming for you._

* * *

><p>Grissom never heard the creaking of the trap door as it opened and closed, or of the stairs as Wallis carefully negotiated his way down into the basement. The hard kick in the kidneys that roused him from his deep slumber was the first he knew he wasn't alone anymore.<p>

Searing pain shot through his body and he let out a loud groan, waiting until the pain had eased up to open his eyes. He could feel Wallis's body hovering over his but he couldn't see anything in the pitch darkness. He braced himself for another kick which never came. The silence was deafening, the wait excruciating. He needed to act fast before it was too late and Brass and his men got there.

"Wallis," he said in a groan, his voice echoing in muffled sounds in his ears, "It took you long enough. Are you ready to finish what you started?"

The bright beam of a flashlight was suddenly turned on, aimed straight at his face and into his eyes, blinding him. "No," Wallis said coolly, "not what _I_ started. What _you_ started, old man, but not just yet." He let out a cold chuckle. "We're still one guest short."


	52. Chapter 52

Greg hung up the phone and turning back toward Sara shook his head in disbelief. "Can you believe she called Grissom's phone rather than my cell to check up on us?" he said, aiming for lightness but failing, "To make sure we were where we said we'd be?" He stared at her expectantly and when she didn't comment dropped the pretence and gave out a long sigh. "Catherine said that Maria's finally come through for them with a…location for Grissom. It's a…little distance away," he added, keeping the details vague so as to minimise Sara's worries, "so she warned we might not hear from them for a while."

Sara remained silent. She just gave a nod of her head and closed her eyes, resigned to a long wait. She still looked remarkably calm and composed, at peace even considering how desperate the situation was. Or maybe, he figured, she was as overwhelmed and overwrought by it all as he was, but was better at hiding it. He stared at her a while longer, a smile forming as he thought again of her fortitude and bravery, that unstoppable single-mindedness so intrinsic to her character that he so admired.

"I wish we had Clue to pass the time," he said in a sigh as he plopped back down on the visitor's chair he'd been keeping warm for the last two hours ever since they'd set up camp in Grissom's office.

Sara's lips twitched with a smile but she kept quiet and her eyes shut. Slowly, he scanned his eyes around the place, yet again wondering what else there was to do to make time go faster. Sara's earlier suggestion that they listened to police radio communications on the scanner had been met with outright refusal and Grissom's vast collection of books wasn't proving that appealing a prospect in the circumstance.

"You hungry?" he asked.

Her head shaking Sara made a negative humming sound in reply.

"Thirsty?"

"Greg, whatgoes in mustcome out."

"Oh. Okay," he said, realising for the first time that he hadn't quite thought the situation through. "You know, maybe we should head back. I mean Maria's with Brass now so there's no danger at the Clinic anymore. You'd be more comfortable there and besides, you know…" he sighed and eyed her carefully as he spoke, wary of offending her, "I wouldn't know what to do, you know, to help you…if you needed me to."

Sara frowned. Then a mischievous smile crossed her face and she cracked one eye open. "Then, letsope don't need togo."

Greg's face lit up with a grin at her teasing. "What about your medication?" he tried again.

"Mfine, stop fussing," she said firmly. "Knowyou mean well, but dratherbe here and wait."

"Okay," he sighed, accepting he wasn't going to win this battle, and pushed to his feet, nervous energy spilling out of him. He walked over to the bookshelves, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the titles on display for the umpteenth time. "You want me to read to you some more?" he asked, turning toward her.

"Sure," she said, a knowing smile forming.

A frown creasing his brow he searched the books for one that wouldn't send either of them to sleep. "I don't know how you do it," he said out of the blue.

"Ow do what?"

"Be so calm, so brave." He shrugged. "It took a lot of gut what you did before. Organising the taxi; coming back here after all this time when you don't even remember…" Sara's eyes opened, and thinking he'd put his foot in it he broke off with a sigh and turned back toward the shelves.

"Mpetrified, Greg," she said quietly.

Suddenly fearful he turned his head in her direction, his heart clenching at the heartbreak he saw in her gaze. Was that why she's been keeping her eyes closed? So he wouldn't see how much she hurt?

"Mpetrified gonna loseim," she went on, her eyes shining with tears, "that eesnotgonna get out ovbasement alive. Anall I cando is waitere. Ifcould dswap places wivim." She pinched her lips into a wobbly smile. "Whatif Brass too late? Whatif theycant findim in time?"

Sara's speech was always worse when she was tired or anxious and Greg had trouble understanding her. He stared at her uncertainly until her words finally registered with him. "Basement?" he said his face creasing in a frown of puzzlement. "How do you know he's in a basement?"

Sara's eyes averted and she shrugged. Thinking he'd misheard her Greg sighed and covered the distance to her. Grabbing hold of her hands he gave them a strong squeeze. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I should have kept my big mouth shut."

"Yeah, youshouldav," she said sadly, but the slight pout of her mouth told him he was forgiven.

He gave her a smile and bent down, dropping her hands to take her into a tight embrace. He wanted to reassure her, tell her that everything would turn out alright, but he couldn't. Unwilling, or rather unable, to lie to her he didn't say anything he just held her in his arms that little bit tighter.

"Fank you," she said in his ear.

"What for?" he said pulling back from her.

She gave him a shrug of the shoulder. "For beinere anlookinafter me. Forbein my friend."

"Try and stop me," he said, choking up. He managed a small smile then straightened up before moving back to the shelves to hide his emotion under the disguise of picking a book to read.

"Lookin pocket, behindchair," she said to him after a moment.

Frowning he turned back toward her, and she gave an encouraging nod of the head over her shoulder. His frown deepening Greg checked the back of her chair. There was a small pouch there, sewn on to the seatback. Shaky hands pulled the Velcro open, a smile breaking as he made out what was inside.

"'There's a smile in every Hershey bar'," he quoted, taking out the chocolate bar and walking back round so he faced her. There was a smile on her face now, and a cheeky glint in her eyes. He shook his head with disbelief and stared at her, wondering whether it was just a coincidence or whether she remembered. But how could she?

He could recall the first time she'd shared a Hershey bar with him like it was yesterday. He'd been sitting on the bench in the locker room, bone tired and shell-shocked at having witness death first hand for the first time. The Mojave Express bus crash had been his first foray into CSI work rather than lab work, a gruesome experience that had been a real eye opener, but he'd never looked back.

Sara had come into the room and sat down on the bench next to him. She hadn't spoken a word, not at first, she'd simply sat there and he hadn't felt so very alone anymore. After a moment she'd got up, opened her locker and rummaged inside it. Just as quietly she'd sat back down next to him, taken the wrapper off a chocolate bar and broken off half before giving him a gentle nudge of the elbow as she'd offered it to him.

"Chocolate always hits the spot," she'd said, taking a hungry bite of her half of chocolate.

Her voice from then in his head mixed with her halting staccato now as reading his thoughts she repeated the same thing to him. "You remember?" he said in a gasp of wonder, a smile of pleasure spreading on his face.

She gave a slow nod. "Alwaysmember myfirst time," she said, giving him that beautiful, teasing grin of hers.

He burst into laughter, and peeled the wrapper off the Hershey bar before breaking off one square which he held out to her. Sara's eyes dropped to his hand and she pulled a face. "Too big?" he asked with concern, worried she might choke on it.

She shook her head, looked at her right hand, and turning it palm up lifted it off her lap. Her face taking on a look of intent concentration she made her fingers into a claw, a little like the metal grabbers that pick up teddy bears in the arcade games of his youth, and picked up the treat with her thumb and forefinger, slowly bringing it to her mouth. Her grin returned, and he understood that what she'd just achieved had taken some doing.

"Jusperfect," she mumbled.

He put a square of chocolate into his mouth and checked his watch. "Maybe I should call Cath and get another update," he said, chewing. Right on cue the desk phone rang, startling them both, and they shared a smile. Greg quickly finished his mouthful then picked up the phone, answering with a cheery, "Grissom's phone."

"Greg," Judy said, "A nurse from Torrey Pines is here for Sara."

Alarm bells began to ring; his smile dissolved into a frown of worry and he turned away. "Have you confirmed that she was here?" he asked quietly, hoping Sara wouldn't hear.

"Shouldn't I have done?" Judy asked, her voice registering fear. "I mean, he's wearing a nurse's uniform and I asked to see his ID. He said he was sent over; I assumed you knew about it."

"Greg?" Sara said tentatively, "Whatees it?"

Greg turned toward her. Her eyes were narrowed, watching him anxiously. "Someone's here to see you," he told her, covering the receiver, "From Torrey Pines."

Sara's face became puzzled, then alarmed. "Owthey know…" she paused and took a breath, "Mere?"

"I don't know," Greg replied tensely, "I only told Brass." And they both knew Brass wouldn't have told anyone.

Sara swallowed. "Male or female?"

"Male," he said, returning to the phone. "Judy, did you take the guy's name?"

There was a pause; then Judy came back on the line. "Manuel Suarez."

_Suarez?_ _As in Maria Suarez?_ Greg glanced at Sara from the corner of his eye. The nervous look on her face matched his. Something wasn't quite right and they both knew it. "Tell him to wait at reception," he told Judy, "I'm on my way," and put the phone down. Meeting Sara's enquiring eyes he forced a smile. "You stay here," he said, "while I check it out. I won't be a minute."

He waited briefly, expecting Sara to argue and ask to go with him, but amazingly she didn't. He left the office, closing the door behind him, stopping by his locker on the way to pick up and load his gun. He doubted anyone would be stupid enough to try anything at CSI, but he wasn't taking any chances. Nick had returned from processing the Suarez's house to go help Warrick out on a 419 in Seven Hills, and Catherine had gone with Brass. At this time of the night, that only left him, Judy and the nightshift lab rats to protect Sara.

* * *

><p>A Hispanic man sat alone in one of the visitor's chairs across from the reception desk with his head in his hands. Under his open jacket Sara noticed he wore the traditional light green Torrey Pines nurses uniform. He looked vaguely familiar, but she knew for certain he'd never actively cared for her. She could feel Judy's puzzled gaze on her as she approached, but she didn't stop or make eye contact with her. Greg was nowhere in sight, and she wondered where she could have passed him. Blowing out a slow breath she closed the distance to the man, bringing the chair to a stop a few feet in front of him.<p>

"Sara," she heard hiss in her ear, "I told you to stay put."

Sara turned her head and made eye contact with Greg. Looking flustered he was glaring at her. Her chin lifted defiantly, challenging him to even try to stop her. He didn't. She refocused her eyes onto the man and was about to speak to him when startling, he looked up, staring straight at her with red-rimmed eyes. He held her gaze for an instant before swallowing. He looked heartbroken. His eyes filling with tears he stood up, and Sara could only stare at him with puzzlement.

"Did Doctor Williamson send you?" she asked, articulating her words as clearly as she could.

The man mustered a small smile and shook his head.

"Mr Suarez," Greg said stepping forward, and Sara's head snapped round toward him with surprise as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Was this man Maria Suarez's father?

"I don't know why you came here," Greg went on, "but it's not a good idea."

Mr Suarez's eyes flicked back down to Sara. "I need to speak with you," he said, ignoring Greg, "Please."

"How did you know to come here?" Greg asked.

Manuel Suarez refocused on him. "I saw you leave, before, from the Clinic." He redirected his eyes at Sara and smiled. "I called the taxi company, told them you'd forgotten your medication, asked where they'd dropped you off so I could get it to you. We use them all the time so they…didn't challenge me."

Greg took a step closer and Sara reached out an arm in front of him, stopping him before he could speak again. "It's okay, Greg. I'll speak with him."

"Not alone you won't," Greg argued heatedly.

Sara cast her eye around the reception area and at Judy standing at the counter pretending not to be watching while she made a phone call, and nodded her head at Greg.

"I don't know all the details," Mr Suarez said. He took in a deep breath which he blew out slowly, "But you got to believe that Maria's a good girl. She didn't mean any harm." His eyes filled again, his lips pinched into a thin line. "She's never been into any kind of trouble, not even at school. We raised her well."

Sara opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't know what to say. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

The man's eyes lowered. "He's got my wife," he said, looking back up. "She's been gone all day."

"Who has?" Greg asked, confused.

"Wallis," Sara said in a whisper, uttering aloud the name of her attacker for the very first time.

Mr Suarez was looking hot and bothered, almost agitated. He wiped a quick hand over his face, removing sweat from his forehead and around his eyes before abruptly reaching his hand to his pants pocket as though he'd suddenly remembered something. Sara stiffened.

Without warning Greg stepped in front of her. His right hand shot to his hip, pulling out his gun, aiming it square at Mr Suarez. Shielding Sara as best he could he shouted, "Keep your hands where I can see them!" His voice was as firm and steady as his grip on the gun.

Mr Suarez's hands flew high up in the air above him. They were shaking. "I'm not armed," he defended fearfully. "I'm not armed." He dipped his head and made eye contact with Sara, his expression beseeching. "Please, I don't mean any harm, you got to believe me."

Sara stared at the man's eye and saw the truth of his words in them. She glanced at Greg and raised her hand to his right arm, lowering it. Greg registered a second of hesitation but eventually stepped away and lowered his gun. He didn't put it away.

"Why are you telling me this, and not the police?" Sara asked.

"Because the police can't help them, but you can."

Sara's brow creased with confusion. "I don't understand."

Mr Suarez glanced at Greg. "My cell's in my pocket," he said, with a jerk of his head.

Greg and Sara exchanged a look and Greg nodded that he could lower his hands. Before Mr Suarez could take out his cell Hodges came running into the lobby, brandishing a tyre iron. Mr Suarez's eyes widened with shock and he took a step back, his arms rising up in front of him in protection. Hodges stopped abruptly, his expression registering uncertainty as he surveyed the scene, and lowered his weapon.

"Judy called," he said, panting, "And I came."

"With a tyre iron?" Greg exclaimed.

"I grabbed the first thing at hand!"

Sara's eyes narrowed down on Greg and she gave him a look that said, "You made this mess now you deal with it."

With a shake of the head and a look at Mr Suarez who was gingerly dropping his arms by his sides Greg put his gun back in its holster. "Thanks Hodges," he said, "I think we got it under control."

Hodges's eyes flicked between Sara, Greg and Mr Suarez for a few seconds. "If you're sure," he said, and when Sara smiled at him that she was he reluctantly backed away, stopping to talk to Judy on the way.

Without wasting any more time, Mr Suarez reached for his cell phone, pressed a few keys and played a voice message on loud speaker. It was short and to the point asking for Sara by name in exchange for Rosita Suarez, or else.

If it was indeed Wallis's voice on the message it left Sara cold. But what was clear to her was that Wallis already had Grissom hostage and now he wanted her. Retribution for the deaths of his _two_ accomplices, she thought despondently. Hammurabi's Code, she heard Grissom's voice say in her head, Lex Talionis, or put more simply, an eye for an eye.

"Why didn't you come sooner with this?" Greg asked. "Grissom's been missing for nearly ten hours!"

Mr Suarez flopped down on the chair and gave his face a weary rub. "I left my phone behind this morning," he said, "when I left for work. I didn't get the message until I got home after Paolo called the clinic to say Maria had been arrested. I checked, Rosita never showed for work today."

"I'm going to call Catherine," Greg said, "Let them know they're dealing with more than one hostage."

Sara had lapsed into silence, her mind racing. She couldn't save Grissom, but maybe she could save Rosita Suarez. And if their lives were to come to an end at the hands of Wallis at least they would be together, reunited.

Greg stopped in his tracks. "No, Sara," he exclaimed suddenly, reading the thoughts in her head, "It's out of the question. I won't let you. Do you hear me? You'd be playing right into Wallis's hands, and with no guarantees!" Then he turned to Manuel Suarez, "You can't put this on her! That's not fair!"

Mr Suarez's pleading eyes were fixed on Sara. "You heard him," he said, his voice shaking, "he's going to kill them both if you don't."

Sara opened her mouth to talk then shut it, searching for the right words to explain why she couldn't do it. If she thought she could help them she'd be there like a shot, no questions asked. She'd trade her life for his wife's and for Grissom's too without a second thought. But she figured that if Wallis wanted her that bad then they had a better chance of surviving if she stayed away. Besides in her present condition she would just be a dead weight, unable to help anyone, least of all herself. Grissom wanted her to stay safe, and she would. She formed words in her head and told Mr Suarez as best she could.

Mr Suarez's head was shaking and he fell to his knees at her feet. "Please," he begged, "you can buy them some time."

_I am doing_, Sara thought, genuinely believing that by staying away she was keeping them alive. She gave him a slow shake of her head. "I'm sorry," she said, swallowing back the tears prickling the back of her eyes, "but I can't help you." She looked up at Greg for help.

He put his hand under Mr Suarez's elbow and helped him up to his feet. "Maria's taking the police and a SWAT team there as we speak," he said, "let them do their jobs. That's what they're trained for."

"You don't understand," Mr Suarez insisted as he sat down. "Maria will never find her way back there."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "You know where they are, don't you?" she realised suddenly.

Mr Suarez's eyes met Sara's briefly before averting and he nodded his head. "I'm not a bad man," he said, looking up, "I love my family very much. I will do everything in my power to keep them safe. Maria made a mistake, and now we're all paying the consequences of her actions." He paused and took a moment to compose himself. "Yesterday, she came home with her face…" he pinched his lips and closed his eyes, releasing a tear, and waved his hand about his own face. His eyes reopened, staring straight at Sara. "She said Jimmy had got angry and that he'd punched her. She wouldn't say why, just that they'd argued.

"I told her she was better than that. I told her to break up with him, that if he ever hit her or set foot in the house again I'd…I'd…" breaking off he clenched his jaw and wrung his hands together. "Anyway, this morning she came to find me at work after her shift's over. Said she had to do this one thing for him and then that she'd break up with him. I asked her to tell me where Jimmy was staying, so I'd know, you know in case…then I told her to call me when she got back. She didn't know where he was staying but she had written directions which she showed me. I didn't know anything about the abductions, I swear on all my children's lives, not until I got home."

"Doesn't sound like she knew about your wife being taken," Greg remarked.

"She still doesn't know."

"I'll do it," Sara said, "but on one condition."

"Sara, no," Greg said in a gasp.

"That you tell the police exactly where they are first."

Mr Suarez's head was shaking. "What if he kills them when he sees the police there, and not you?"

"It's a chance we're going to have to take," she said, looking at him straight in the eye. "I love Gil as much as you love your wife, Mr Suarez," she added when she saw mistrust and hesitation in his eyes.

Mr Suarez swallowed before finally nodding his head. "Okay. I'll tell you where they are."

Sara glanced at Greg who was already on the phone explaining the situation to Catherine, and closed her eyes, praying that he would agree to her plan, but most importantly that it would work as well for them as it had for the Greeks.


	53. Chapter 53

A/N: Thank you for your patience while I tied this last loose end left over from _A Crime Too Far_, and also for all the wonderful comments, encouragement and feedback you all provide. Without them I would have run out of steam a long time ago.

This chapter's a little gritty, I guess, in the same style I used in _A Crime Too far_ when I wrote McKay, so unpleasant and unnerving. Well, I hope so anyway! Which means some of you _might_ need a hanky, maybe. Oh and also, it's a very long chapter but I wanted this parenthesis in the story to end now, so that we can move on to happier interludes again.

Please, leave a review. And have a nice weekend!

* * *

><p>"We're moving upstairs," Wallis said, aiming the beam of the flashlight at the pipe Grissom was cuffed to.<p>

Keeping his body away from Grissom's reach Wallis turned the small key inside the lock, releasing the left handcuff. With the cuffs hanging off his right wrist Grissom weakly brought his arm down, wincing as he slowly rotated it to ease the pain and stiffness in his elbow and shoulder. Rubbing at his sore wrists, he threw a wary glance at Wallis stood over watching him then shifted up into a more upright position.

"Strip."

The command came out of nowhere. Grissom's eyes snapped up, meeting his captor's cold ones anxiously. A lump formed in his throat as he realised what Wallis was doing; exacting his revenge precisely the way _he_ had. This time though he wasn't the one calling the shots, or holding the gun. Wallis was, and there was intent in his gaze.

Wallis smirked. "What, you gone shy?" he teased with a careless wave of the gun at Grissom. "I show you mine, you show me yours…isn't that the way it normally works?"

Grissom did his best to reign in his fright. His eyes averting to his shaky hands, he pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his pants before moving to undo the buttons one at a time. He removed the shirt, dropping it to the mattress, then stopped, his eyes flicking hesitantly toward Wallis. The latter's brow rose; his smirk widened.

"Need a hand with the rest?"

Grissom swallowed. Wordlessly he toed off his lace-up shoes and began removing the rest of his clothes; T-shirt first, then pants and socks, leaving him sitting at the edge of the mattress in his boxers.

"All the way," Wallis coaxed.

He felt a sick sinking feeling deep within him. He closed his eyes, shuffling to slip his boxers off, waiting for the moment Wallis told him to stand up. It came, and swallowing his pride Grissom staggered to his feet. The movement intensified the ache from the kicking in his lower back and he found himself stooping to ease the pain. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked, resignation setting in.

Wallis didn't reply. "Hands in front of you," he said, and when Grissom once again complied without argument he snapped shut the second arm of the cuff over Grissom's left wrist before motioning with his gun for him to precede him up the dark wooden stairs to the ground floor.

Briefly, Grissom wondered whether he could try to overpower Wallis, but he figured that in his present condition he wouldn't be a match for the much younger and fitter man. So he decided to lull him into a false sense of security, biding his time and energy until rescue arrived. And rescue would arrive, he told himself again, it had to. Brass and the CSI's had to have found the clues he'd left them by now, and with Maria Suarez's help they'd soon be there.

Grissom felt light-headed and had to work hard at keeping his balance in the dark while he followed the dim beam of light up the old rickety stairs. He hesitated at the top but the feel of the muzzle of Wallis's gun on his back soon had him pushing the trap door open and emerging straight into the main living area. The air was cooler there and Grissom shivered as he cast a wary eye around the room. The windows were blacked out – or rather boarded-up, he seemed to recall from when he'd arrived; the only light burning that of an old camping gas lantern sat atop a small wooden table, its shine so weak that whole corners of the room were in pitch darkness.

He heard a low moan and then quiet whimpering coming from the far wall. A woman's voice. His head snapped round to it but he could only make out the rough outline of a body lain on a metal bed, shaking. His heart stopped, his breath catching as he thought of Sara. Her name died on his lips and he felt himself go weak at the knees, but before he could speak or rush to her Wallis shoved him forward, manhandling him into sitting down on the lone chair in the middle of the room.

His hands were freed then cuffed together again behind his back; his arms tightly wrapped around the wooden chair back twisting his shoulders at a funny angle. The sharp edge cut into the soft skin of his bicep and he could feel the strain it put on his still-healing bones from his last break. From the corner of his eye he saw Wallis tuck the gun into the waistband of his pants but his stunned gaze never left the still form bound to the bed frame with her back to him.

Relief gradually filled him as he realised the body was too short and stocky to be Sara's, then came the guilt at thinking such thoughts. Whoever that woman was didn't deserve what had happened to her and was only there because of him. The sharp pulling of the rope binding his ankles together brought his mind back to Wallis, and he refocused on him, watching warily as the latter stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Who is she?" he asked in a gasp. "What have you done to her?"

Wallis's smile was wry. "Bought myself a little insurance policy, that's what I've done. And she was a good sport, weren't you Ro-si-ta?" he called over in a sneer. "Begged me to stop, she did, which made me want her more."

Grissom heard the woman whimper as she tried to stifle her sobs. The smile vanished off Wallis's face suddenly. His face turned dark, his eyes cold and menacing and for a second Grissom saw the same evil in them he'd seen in McKay's eyes. Wallis pulled the gun out of his pants and aimed it at the woman.

"No!" Grissom shouted.

Wallis's lip curled into a chilling smile. Then he slowly turned the gun on Grissom and pretended to pull the trigger, moving so close that when he spoke spit showered Grissom's face. "_You_ made me do this to her. This…" he said, waving the gun about the room, "is all on _you_." He scoffed. "You didn't think you'd get away with what you did, did you?"

Grissom's eyes lowered and he turned away shamefully.

"Didn't think so," Wallis said as he moved to the window. Two fingers held the curtain back a little as he peered outside. He checked his watch with a purse of his mouth then reached into his jeans jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Casually he tapped one out, lit it and closing his eyes took a deep slow drag. "They'll be here soon," he told Grissom confidently, taking a chair and leaning it against the wall to sit on as though preparing himself for a long wait, "don't you worry about that."

Grissom prayed that Wallis was right and that indeed they would be there soon because he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep going. He was cold, sore all over, and weak. He tried wriggling his hands and legs but they were tied fast, then took a moment to check out his surroundings. Wallis had positioned him dead centre of the room with a clear view of the door. Why? The woman had gone quiet now, he noticed. His eyelids grew heavy and he struggled to keep them open. He must have dozed off a little because the loud noise of rumbling engines jolted him awake.

"Cavalry's here," Wallis said calmly. He stood up, turned the lantern off, then carefully positioning his body away from the window inched the curtain aside, peering out. The cars' headlights shone a little light in, but not much. "One, two, three, four, five cars," he counted, "Captain Brass's not taking any chances." He raised his gun at a point through the window, faking a shot.

"Wallis!" Both men startled as Brass's voice came over the loudspeaker. "Wallis, Captain Brass here of the LVPD. You remember me? I won't beat around the bush. We got your surrounded. Make this easier for you and come out with your hands up in the air now!"

Wallis let out a chilling laugh. "He's funny," he told Grissom, and then shouting back to Brass, "Make this easier for _you_, you mean."

"He's right," Grissom said, "you're not going to get out of here alive."

Wallis glanced over his shoulder at Grissom. He looked strangely calm, resigned to his fate and Grissom understood that Wallis didn't expect to survive this. "Neither are you."

"Then so be it."

"You'll change your mind when our guest gets here."

"He's already here," Grissom said.

"Wallis?" Brass called, "I need to know the two hostages are still alive."

Wallis's brow lifted. "Captain Brass?" he said to Grissom, surprised, then laughed. "You don't think I went to all this trouble for him, do you?" His smile widening devilishly, he gave a deliberately slow shake of the head. "Nah. We're waiting for Sara, who else? Sweet crippled Sara."

"Sara's not coming," Grissom said with confidence.

Wallis's mouth twisted in amusement. "Isn't she?" He held Grissom's gaze, and Grissom repressed a shiver at the certainty he saw in his captor's eye.

"She won't come," he made himself say, but even to his own ears he didn't sound so convinced anymore. "She knows that coming here would mean the end for all of us."

"Maybe she feels she has no choice." Wallis paused to give his words emphasis. He glanced toward the bed. "Maybe she thinks that's the only way you and her can be saved. And she would come for you, wouldn't she? She wouldn't think twice. She'd sacrifice her life for yours, as you would for her."

Grissom managed a confident smile. "She won't."

"Wallis?" Brass called again.

"They're preparing themselves," Grissom said, trying to rattle his opponent. "Ten minutes and they're storming the house. They're probably listening in to what we're saying anyway."

"I don't think so," Wallis replied calmly. "I have nothing left to lose, and I'm going to see this through till the end. J would be proud of me – will be proud of me." His voice became quiet, introspective. "I'm carrying out her wishes, what I should have done from the start. She'd still be alive then, and we'd be happy."

The mention of McKay's name sent shivers down Grissom's spine. "McKay was sick."

Wallis covered the distance to Grissom in a flash. "_You_ made her sick," he snarled in his face.

Grissom recoiled, turning his face away from Wallis.

Wallis stood back a little and a contemptuous smile on his lips spat at Grissom's face. The latter flinched automatically but made himself hold Wallis's gaze unwaveringly. "You can be strong now," Wallis hissed, "but by the time I've finished with her you'll beg me for her life, and then when you've watched her die you'll beg me for yours."

More car doors slammed shut outside and Wallis frowned. Quickly he moved to another window, pushing the curtain away a little and peering out. "And this must be the beautiful Sara arriving," he said, an evil look filling his face.

Grissom's blood ran cold at the thought and he prayed, prayed to God that Sara had kept her promise and stayed away. Her words came back to him, soothing, "That's not how this is going to end," she'd said, and he held on to that belief, "We haven't got this far you and me, to give up now."

"I'm not," he mumbled tiredly in response to the sweet voice in his head.

"Rosa!" echoed in from outside, jarring Grissom out of his daze.

The woman gasped then began crying again, and he realised that if that woman's husband was there, then so was Sara.

"Oh, shut up," Wallis snarled at the woman from the window, "Your snivelling's getting on my nerves." But she didn't, and out of the blue, he swivelled on his heels, pulled the gun out of his pants and training it on the bed fired a round. Grissom's eyes clenched shut just as the woman let out a long, piercing squeal of pain.

"Rosita!" cried a man's voice from outside just as Sara screamed Grissom's name.

Tears filled his eyes at the sound of Sara's voice and they scrunched tighter shut. Panic filled him, then desperation that she'd come. "Sara, no," he screamed back, frantically pulling at his restraints. "I forbid you. I forbid you to do this! It's a trap!"

"Listen to yourself," Wallis said in a mocking laugh. "I forbid you. How sweet!"

Grissom's jaw set. He stopped struggling and took a moment to calm his racing heart. "Rosa," he then called quietly, uncertain whether her continuing crying was due to hysteria or pain. He squinted at the bed, looking for blood but it was too dark and he didn't see any. "Did he get you? Are you hit?"

Rosita didn't answer; she just continued whimpering. Grissom called her name again, softly but when he still got no reply he gave up.

"There you have it, Brass," Wallis shouted out, "Your proof. You heard them both. They're still alive. For how long depends on what you do next."

"Alright, Wallis," Brass said, "No need to get snappy, we get the message. What is it you want exactly?"

Wallis let out a blood curling laugh which petered out almost immediately. "I want Sara. I want her, or the woman gets it."

"I need some guarantees," Brass said.

"Guarantees?" Wallis scoffed, then paused and turned toward Grissom. His brow rose thoughtfully and he looked at the gun in his hand. "He wants guarantees," he told Grissom, his tone incredulous, as he covered the distance to him and pointed the gun at his forehead.

Grissom's held his gaze unwaveringly, daring him to shoot. Then Sara would be spared.

Wallis smiled then returned to the window. "I tell you what," he told Brass, "As soon as Sara passes the threshold I'll release the woman. I've set up a ramp for her. I know she's a little incapacitated right now."

Brass fell quiet, as did Wallis, except for his scurrying footsteps as he moved from window to window, monitoring progress outside. Their only hope now was that Brass was bluffing, pretending to play into Wallis's hands when in fact he had a plan, a plan that didn't involve exchanging Sara for the woman hostage. If anything, he thought, SWAT would have a pretty clear picture of where they all stood in the room, which should help when planning the rescue.

"Maria's told me a lot about her," Wallis said, breaking the silence. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure he had Grissom's attention, "like how she can't walk anymore, or talk properly. How she drools, and can't really move or go to the bathroom, or do anything for herself." He let out a scoff and turned back toward the window. "Must be a real drag she survived."

Grissom closed his eyes and bit his tongue, unwilling to play into Wallis's hands. He wanted to defend Sara, tell him how well she was doing, how proud he was of her and of what she had achieved in so little time and against the odds. How he had been blessed with a second chance at love and happiness with her and that her disability could never change the way they felt about each other. He loved her. He loved Sara, the person, the rest didn't matter.

"Okay, Wallis, we're ready," Brass said over the loudspeaker, and Grissom's heart sank. "She's coming."

"Tell me what she looks like," Wallis hissed at Grissom after a minute or so.

"What?"

"Sara, what does she look like now?"

"She's the same as before," he replied darkly.

"Don't…make me angry now. I have a clear shot on her, and I will take it."

"It's like you said," Grissom said. "She's in a chair and she can't move." A tear escaped and he pinched his lips. "She's lost some weight, and she's had her hair cut because of what you did. She wears glasses," he added, the words dying on his lips.

"She's wearing a ball cap. I can't read what it says."

More tears fell. "That's mine," he said glumly. "It says CSI on it."

Wallis's face lit up. Keeping his body hidden from sight and his gun firmly trained on Grissom Wallis unbolted the door and slowly pulled it open. Bright light flooded the room, blinding him and he turned away from the glare. He understood now why Wallis had placed him where he had. He was being flaunted like a trophy. The intense feeling of humiliation and degradation Grissom felt in front of Sara and his peers came as a bonus.

"Come on, Sara, don't be shy," Wallis coaxed from behind the door, and Grissom could only shake his head in disbelief as Sara obeyed, manoeuvring the chair over the rugged terrain closer to the house before stopping. All the while she kept her eyes averted from his.

"Release the hostage," Brass called over the loud speaker.

Keeping Grissom in his sights, Wallis pulled at the ropes tying Rosita to the bed and manhandled her to her feet. Barely able to stand she let out a cry of pain and folded over, exhausted. Wallis put the gun to her temple, frogmarching her to the door and pushing her out. If SWAT had a clear shot on Wallis they didn't take it. Rosita tripped up then fell flat on her face to the ground.

"You can come get her when Sara's in," Wallis shouted as he once again took up his spot under cover of the door, gun firmly trained on Grissom.

Sara manoeuvred her way up the rickety wooden ramp all the way to the door and over the threshold where she stopped.

"Oh, sweetheart," he mouthed, tears falling despite himself.

There was something different, something intrinsically wrong with the way he saw her. Her head was bent forward so that her features were concealed, hidden from sight by the wide brim of his CSI cap. Her right arm lay folded over her stomach, its twisted hand tucked into the opposite side, while her other hand operated the wheelchair. He closed his eyes, trying to clear the blurriness as he fathomed what it was, why when he looked at Sara her image was reversed as though he was looking at her reflection in a mirror.

He felt movement to his left, Wallis most probably changing target, aiming the gun at Sara.

His eyes reopened, narrowed, confounded, and he lifted them to her again. At that moment the brim of the cap slowly lifted, gradually uncovering her face until dark, narrowed eyes stared directly at him behind black-framed glasses he didn't recognise. With an imperceptible jerk of her head to her left she snatched her hand out of her side, pulling out a gun. The metal of the barrel glinted in the dim light. It took Grissom a second to grasp what was happening and follow the command. Dipping his head he twisted his body to his right as much as he could, toppling the chair sideways, his eyes shutting on impulse.

Two gun shots rang out one straight after the other, echoing with deafening clarity in his head as the chair came crashing to the floor. The breath left him. He never heard Sara's distant cry calling his name. His eyes snapped open, wide and fearful, immediately zooming in on the chair. She sat there motionless with her head slumped forward, her cap and the gun she'd pulled on Wallis fallen to the ground.

"Sara!" he shouted desperately, vainly pulling at his restraints to free himself, "Sara!"

Frantic shouts came from outside, loud voices giving orders or yelling at Wallis to surrender. He heard running footfalls approaching as SWAT rushed to the house. Grissom's eyes stayed, helpless and heartbroken, on Sara. The cuffs were cutting into his wrists, the ropes into his ankles, as weakly he continued to struggle in desperation to get to her. He caught, through the still open door, the muzzle of a rifle as a SWAT officer checked this way and that way for signs of Wallis before carefully glancing in and entering the building, rifle drawn.

Wallis lay on the floor, sprawled eagle, blood spilling out of him, dead, his body concealed by the open door. The gun which had fallen out of his hand lay still smoking, nearby. His rifle pointing straight at Wallis's head the SWAT officer approached with caution, and kicking the gun away shouted, "The suspect is dead."

More officers rushed in, followed by an anxious Brass. Grissom could only sit there, staring unseeingly, helpless, numbed and in shock as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Greg!" Brass exclaimed, kneeling down by the wheelchair and putting his gun away. Gently he raised Greg's head, quick fingers feeling his throat for a pulse point. "He's breathing," he called out. He ripped open the studs on Greg's jacket, checking the bullet-proof vest underneath for holes, yelling for the paramedics to come. "I know it hurts, son," he then told Greg quietly, "but you're going to be alright. That was a brave thing what you just did."

His head and body swivelled a whole one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, first finding Wallis on the ground then Grissom. The paramedics arrived and Brass left them to see to Greg while he moved to Grissom. Immediately he reached into his pocket for his universal handcuff key, working it first to free Grissom's hands before undoing the ropes around his ankles and helping him up back on the chair.

"You okay, buddy?" he heard Brass ask.

Grissom's eyes moved away from Greg for the first time, finding Brass's watchful ones. He could see himself as Brass saw him, bloodied and beaten, dazed and confused, humiliated, and as if reading his thoughts the captain quickly removed his jacket, draping it over his trembling shoulders.

"It's all over, Gil," Brass said, soothing, "All over. Wallis is dead."

Grissom gave a slow nod of understanding. "Is Greg going to be okay?" he asked, finding his voice at last.

Brass turned toward the paramedics tending to Greg. It looked like the young CSI was slowly coming to. "I think so. He took one in the chest, but the vest did its job. He'll be very sore for a while."

Grissom's gaze veered to the doorway beyond Greg, almost expecting Sara to come rushing in. "And Sara?"

"Sara's safe, Gil. She's waiting in one of the trucks."

Grissom's eyes flicked back to Brass, wide and alarmed; he didn't want Sara to see him in that state.

Brass gave him a nod. "We'll sort something out."

The relief of knowing Sara was safe, though, that this terrible ordeal was finally over for both of them overwhelmed everything else. "I need to speak with her," he said. "I need to…"

"Make sure for yourself?"

Grissom swallowed and nodded.

Giving his friend a sympathetic smile Brass reached into his jacket pocket for his radio and turned the volume back up. "I think that can be arranged," he said, then spoke into the radio, calling for Catherine to put Sara on.

"How's the woman?" Grissom asked, his eyes flicking to the bed where she'd been held captive.

"Not so good," Brass replied, quickly adding, "But she's being looked after."

His eyes moving back toward the door Grissom gave a half-nod. "I really thought it was Sara," he said, still aghast at the prospect, "Jim, I thought he'd shot her."

"That was the plan," Brass said. "If _you_ thought it was Sara there, then Wallis most definitely would." He paused and lifted a mild shoulder, his expression registering wistfulness as he added, "You know I'd have taken her place myself, but...well...I'm not as pretty as she is. And Greg, well, he was the only one with the same build, same height, same short hair now." He gave a small chuckle then sobered up quickly. "I'm sorry we couldn't let you know. We just couldn't take the risk Wallis'd work it out."

"Gil?" Sara's crackly voice came through over the radio, small and fearful, but relieved too, as though she couldn't quite believe he'd be at the other end.

The tears in her voice caused his eyes to fill, and they clenched shut at the sudden surge of emotion, the overpowering relief at hearing the sound of her voice. He took a few shallow breaths as he struggled to find words to reply to her.

"Gil? Youear me?"

"Gil?" Brass echoed quietly, "Do you want me to speak to her?"

Grissom gave his head a shake. He rubbed rough fingers over his eyes and taking in a deep fraught breath took the radio from Brass. His hand was shaking. "I hear you," he croaked, and cleared his throat. A wobbly smile formed on his lips. "God, Sara, honey, it's so good to hear your voice."

"Youkay?" she asked in a sniff.

His voice broke with emotion. "I'm okay, sweetheart, I'm okay. I'm safe."

"Wascared."

His heart brimmed with all the love they shared. "I know you were. I'm sorry."

"Lovyou."

He closed his eyes and the tears he wouldn't allow himself to shed in front of Wallis finally spilled down his face. "I love you too. So very much."

"Gil?" Brass called quietly.

Grissom blinked then looked at Brass, just as Brass's jacket was removed and a survival blanket wrapped around him.

"They're ready for you," Brass said with a nod toward the paramedics, "You and Greg are going to have to share an ambulance, okay? They had to put a rush on Rosa Suarez."

The woman's name didn't register with him at all, not until later when he laid in the hospital. He watched as Greg was reluctantly being loaded onto a stretcher then brought the radio back to his mouth. "Sara?" he called, waiting for her to reply to say, "Honey, I got to go now. They…they're ready to take me and Greg to the hospital. Is Catherine with you?"

"Yes."

"I need you to ask her to take you back to the clinic first, alright? Please, can you do that for me?"

He knew she had to have been listening to police communications on the radio and probably already knew more than he wanted her to, but he couldn't bear for her to see him in the pitiful state he was in. As it was, he was barely keeping it together. There was a pause and he felt her hesitation and disappointment, which he shared. But his need, his ache, to see her, touch her and hold her in his arms was overridden by his need to protect her from further pain.

He expected her to object and insist on seeing him first, but she didn't. She just agreed, and he was grateful for her understanding. "Lbe there firstfingmorrow," she said. "Dontry stopme."

Grissom couldn't help the smile and chuckle that escaped him. "I look forward to it." He swallowed and handed the radio back to Brass. His eyes moved back to Greg, who was hooked up to an IV now, an oxygen mask clamped over his mouth, ready for transport. He still couldn't wrap his head around what had just happened; what Greg had done was a very brave, but also a very stupid thing to do. It had worked, though, and he owed him his and Sara's lives, their future and happiness.

"It was Sara's idea," Brass said, cutting into his thoughts, and Grissom lifted stunned eyes onto him. "She said that if it worked for the freaking Greeks then it would work for us too." He let out a chuckle of disbelief. "The Trojan chair, she called it."

Grissom didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Greg's voice rose up above the silence, cutting short his retort. He was mumbling, objecting to the paramedics taking him away. Grissom tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't comply.

Brass put a hand against him, keeping him seated. "They're fetching a transport chair for you."

Grissom sighed but he was so weak with exhaustion that he didn't put up a fight. "Greg," he called instead, hoping to placate the young CSI's growing agitation, "I'm coming with you." Greg stopped his weak arguing with the paramedics and turned his head toward Grissom. Their eyes met and Grissom gave a faint smile, hoping that his expression would convey his everlasting gratitude. "I hope it's not my ball cap on the floor," he said, straight-faced.

Greg cracked a smile behind the oxygen mask. He lifted a weak hand, pulling the mask off his mouth. "I had to use my own," he said in a pant, "Sara wouldn't let me have yours."

Grissom's expression turned solemn. "I owe you, Greg. Thank you."

Greg gave a nod. "I'd do it again, in a heartbeat."


	54. Chapter 54

Sara didn't know when it happened, but at some point she wasn't holding his hand anymore, he was holding hers. Several times he stirred and her heart beat faster at the thought that he was finally waking. But he would just mumble her name in his sleep, tighten his grip on her hand and doze back off in a contented sigh. Drugs, she figured, for the pain. She would just smile and reach over a clumsy left hand to his face and stroke gentle fingertips to his cheek.

She'd only been allowed out of the Centre early afternoon, and only when she'd been granted a thorough clean bill of health, and a chaperone. Said chaperone was presently sitting outside Grissom's hospital room, waiting with orders to have Sara back by five. Or else. Doctor Williamson's reprimand over her absconding had been justified and deserved, but his absolute refusal to let her visit Grissom at the hospital not so much. She'd become frustrated, then damn right angry and argumentative, her threat to walk out if she didn't get her way met with an arch of the brow followed by laughter, on both sides. Doctor Williamson was kind and understanding but no pushover, and in the end after threatening to take away her wheels if she didn't comply they'd reached a compromise.

She hoped that Grissom would wake before she had to get back but the lines and bruises on his face, the bandages and dressings on his body told her he needed all the rest he could get. His right arm and shoulder were in a sling, the arm itself further encased in a stiff brace to help strengthen the already weak bones there. No broken bones this time though, she'd been told, but the strain the restraints had put on his right shoulder had caused a grade II sprain reflecting some stretching of the ligaments and tendons, which although very painful and very limiting as far as range of movement was concerned would heal over time. It could have been so much worse, she thought again her lips pinching in anxiety, so much worse.

And now sitting at his bedside not-so-patiently waiting she could begin to imagine what it must have been like for him when _he_ had been the one at her bedside, waiting for her to wake, yet knowing she wouldn't. The agony he must have gone through, the overwhelming and conflicting emotion, the powerlessness and protectiveness as he'd held her hand just as she was holding his now, heart wrenching and bringing tears to her eyes. The main difference was, though, that she knew he would wake.

He stirred again, and her eyes on his face she straightened up in her chair so she could be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. He didn't. He simply cracked a smile, licked his lips and filled his lungs with air. "I thought I'd died and gone to heaven," he said raspily, the contented smile growing on his face, "for an angel is at my side."

Sara let out a warm giggle, and his eyes fluttered open full of love and joy and warmth. "Hey," she said, her smile trembling with emotion. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," he replied, and she was surprised by his candour, "But I'll heal."

He stared at her at length, his gaze as soft and loving as his smile, then let go of her hand, wincing as he tried to reach out to her over the bedrail. Sara leaned her face closer, her eyes closing as she felt his warm hand brush against her cheek. Leaning into his touch she took a fraught breath and closed her eyes, finally allowing the tears she'd been keeping in to fall. They didn't speak, not for a long moment, they didn't need to. There were simply content to rejoice in each other's presence and in the love that flowed so freely between them.

When looking up she reopened her eyes he had a soft smile on his face and tears in his eyes. She formed her lips into her brightest smile. He tried to sit up, but the movement caused a wince of pain and he didn't. "I wish I could kiss you," he said, shaking his head in disbelief that he couldn't. Without breaking eye contact he pressed his mouth to his fingers then reached across to deposit the kiss onto her lips.

"Who said you weren't the romantic type, huh?" she mused, laughing as she covered his hand on her lips with hers and nuzzled into it.

His smile morphed into a good-humoured pout. "_Who_ said I wasn't the romantic type?" he asked with genuine interest. His face softened knowingly and she giggled. "How is he?"

Remembering the nurse asking to be told as soon as Grissom awoke Sara reached for the call button near his head and pressed it once. "He's…doing okay," she replied her expression darkening with sadness as she thought of Greg. "I went to see him earlier, but he was sleeping. He's got a nasty bruise on his chest and two cracked ribs."

She lowered her eyes and stared at their joined hands and at the gentle back-and-forth stroking of his thumb over her palm. Her eyes filled again. "You, Greg, Maria's mother…" His fingers stilled, stiffening at the mention of Rosa Suarez, and she looked up. She could see the guilt etched on his features over what had happened to Rosa, guilt that she knew would always stay with him, as would the guilt he felt over her attack. "It wasn't your fault," she said, "What happened to her wasn't your fault. She just got caught in the middle." She tried a reassuring smile, but didn't quite manage it. "With time she'll heal, like we all will."

"Physically maybe," he said darkly, "But emotionally her life's destroyed."

"She has her family around her." She paused, her eyes averting as she said almost inaudibly, "You could have died. _You_ could have died."

"Shhh…" he soothed, "we didn't. That's all that matters now. It's all over, Sara, all over."

Sara swallowed then looked up and met his tender gaze. Her lips pinched and she nodded.

"He can't hurt us anymore."

She held his gaze hoping he was finally ready to open up and tell her the truth, or at least _begin_ to tell her the truth. "Who was he?" she asked, trying her hardest at keeping her emotion in check.

His gaze averted and he swallowed. "How much do you know?" he asked after a moment.

Sara waited until he looked at her to tell him, albeit succinctly, what her brother had told her and also the little she'd gathered from hearing Catherine, Nick and Warrick talk the previous day.

He looked away again and let out a long breath. "Joanne McKay was the name of the woman," he said in a flat voice, then paused and turned to watched her, carefully gauging for her reaction, but the name didn't mean anything to her or jar any memory.

Tightening his hold over her hand he pulled it to his chest and continued, "We worked a case a little over a year ago involving her and her son…in a mental institute. He was a patient there, and she was his nurse. It's a long story," he added when she narrowed her eyes enquiringly, "but ultimately she held me –_ us_ – responsible for the subsequent death of her son. He committed suicide while she was in jail, awaiting trial, and without her son's testimony she was let out. She was sick, Sara, really sick in the head."

Sara's eyes turned distant as recollections flooded her – or rather the recollections of one of the recurring nightmares she'd been having since waking up. She remembered how upset Grissom had been when she'd first told him about it and now she understood why and how it all fitted together. "Adam," she said in a breath, "You said his name was Adam. Adam Trent. He…" she paused, leaving unsaid, "he tried to kill me."

"It's over now," Grissom said in a quiet whisper.

Before Sara could ask him about the Wallis brothers' involvement the door opened, the curtain to Grissom's cubicle pulled back and a smiley nurse came in. Sara and Grissom shared a look, and grudgingly she pulled her hand out of his and manoeuvred her wheelchair out of the way. The nurse lowered the bed guard and did the necessary obs on Grissom while checking with him that he was as comfortable as possible. She gave him a drink of water, and at the mention of the bed pan Grissom caught Sara's gaze, giving a roll of his eyes at all the fussing. Sara giggled.

"Actually," he told the nurse as she made to leave, "could you raise the head of the bed a little more and help me sit more to the left?"

"Sure," the nurse said with a knowing smile. She did as asked and was lifting the bedrail back in place when he raised his hand to it, stopping her. "I'll be very careful," he said, holding her gaze meaningfully.

The nurse had a glance at Sara then smiled and nodded her head. "Let me know if you need anything else," she said, leaving.

Grissom nodded his reply. "I won't be lifting you anywhere anytime soon," he said, his tone on the wistful side, as she resumed her spot at his bedside.

"Won't be for long," she replied. She stared at him a little uncertainly before venturing, "They want to keep you in for a couple of days because of your heart." His eyes lowered and she paused. "When they're ready to discharge you…I…I'm coming home with you." His gaze flicked back up and she went on quickly before he could object, "I know I'll only be able to stay for a few hours at a time, but I want to spend this time home, with you and Hank. It's my home, Gil, our home. I don't care if I can't get up the stairs or through the doors; we'll find a way. I just need to be there. It's time."

Grissom stared at her intently and seeing the resolve in her expression gave her a firm nod of his head. "You're right," he said solemnly. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a mischievous smile. "You can take me home. Just try not to wreck the Merc."

Her face fell, causing the smile to die on his lips. "About that," she said, wincing. "Your car…it's gone."

His brow furrowed. "Gone?"

Maybe now wasn't the time to tell him that all that was left of it was the burnt-out shell. Both her shoulders rose. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care about the car," he said emphatically. "Besides I was going to trade it in, you know, for a younger model…" Mischief filled his eyes and he reached over to give her nose a playful tap, "A bigger model, one that will accommodate a wheelchair."

Her heart filled with consuming love for him, love she saw mirrored a thousand fold, and at that moment she struggled to find the words to tell him how she felt. How cherished and precious he made her feel all the time, like she was the most important person in his life, and not the burden she knew she had to be at times. "I love you," simply wouldn't cut it. She felt tears rise and blinking she pinched her lips. She flicked her eyes to the engagement ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, the word coming to her then as clearly and as vividly as the love they shared.

"Yes," she said categorically, staring deep into his tired, yet bright blue eyes.

His smiled faded, his expression becoming baffled.

"Yes," she repeated pointedly.

The frown lines gradually morphed into a grin, his face lighting up in realisation. "Yeah?" he gasped with incredulity.

Excited she gave a vigorous nod in reply. "I can't imagine my life without you in it," she said, giddily.

His expression clouded. His eyes averted and he shrugged. "It's just that…I mean…"

Sara grew frightened. She was mustering courage to ask if he'd changed his mind when he looked up suddenly.

"It's just that…I'm an old-fashioned kinda guy," he said, "I mean…aren't I supposed to ask before you say 'Yes'?"

A grin broke across her face at his teasing; her heartbeat hitched in anticipation.

"This isn't quite what I had in mind," he said with a scoff as he glanced down at himself. He refocused on her, the solemn and ardent look in his eyes causing the breath to catch in her throat. "Sara," he said in a whisper, shiny eyes locked to hers, "will you marry me? Will you do me the honour of being your husband?"

The tears hovering in the corner of her eyes fell. "Yes," she said, in a breathless whisper, "I will. I don't want to waste any more time."

"Are you sure?"

She laughed. "Yes, I'm sure. I've always loved you, Gil. From the moment we met I knew you were the one for me. And that hasn't changed with the amnesia." She paused and formed more words. "No more missed opportunities. No more regrets. I want to live my life to the full, with you. I don't want to let what happened to me, to us, stop us from being happy and a normal couple."

"Me neither," he said in a gasp.

"I want us to build ourselves a future."

Blinking back tears he shook his head.

"You want that too, don't you?" she asked.

"More than anything in the world," he said with conviction. "God, Sara, I'm so proud of you." He pushed himself up on his left arm, stretching over toward the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked with concern.

He gave her a wink then beckoned her closer with a jerk of the head. "What I've wanted to do ever since I woke up."

Her face softened with pleasure and she reached her head over as much as she could until noses collided and his tender lips met hers in a tentative kiss. Sara closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment, her lips parting as he gently deepened the kiss.

Sara never heard the door open or the rustling of the curtain, but the fake coughing made her jump. Grissom however didn't seem to have noticed, or at least he didn't pull back from her straightaway, preferring instead to finish what he had started, oh-so-very softly and unhurriedly, and Sara was willing participant.

"I'm not…interrupting anything, am I?" Greg asked with a smile in his voice. "I mean I can come back if…"

Grissom slowly pulled back from Sara. His eyes and smile stayed on her for a few moments before grudgingly flicking to Greg beyond. Sara kept her face turned away while she recovered a semblance of composure.

"Perfect timing," Grissom told Greg, a cheeky smile twitching on his lips. He flicked his eyes to her and winked. "We were celebrating."

Sara's brow arched with surprise, and she stared at him asking with her eyes whether he meant to do what she thought he was doing. When he gave her a nod, she turned a beaming smile on Greg. He was sitting in a wheelchair dressed in a hospital gown. A nurse stood behind him, smiling. "You can be the very first person we announce our good news to," she said animatedly.

"What's that?" Greg asked, excitement creeping into his voice as his eyes flickered between Sara and Grissom uncertainly.

She lifted her left hand at him, showing him the ring she already wore. "We're getting married!"

Greg's eyes widened then flicked to Grissom, looking for confirmation. "But I thought…I mean…" His eyes moved back to Sara. "Catherine knows?"

Sara's face softened with affection. "No. You're the first one we tell."

"Wow," Greg said, his eyes flitting between the two with disbelief, "Wait until I tell her." The grin dropped off his face suddenly. "Can I be the one to tell her?" he asked eagerly, "Please?"

Sara and Grissom exchanged glances. "Sure," Grissom said.

"Wow, "Greg said again, "this is…like…huge!"

Grissom held out his hand for Sara's, then gave it a strong squeeze. "It was a long time coming," he said quietly.

"Yeah, but…wow!"

"Congratulations," the nurse said warmly, then to Greg, "Is it okay if I leave you, Greg?" she asked, leaning down to his ear, "i'll come back in ten minutes."

Greg gave her a nod, and the nurse left. Sara gave her head a shake at the blatant flirting between the two.

"Don't really need it," Greg told them with a pat at the wheelchair wheels, "But she's rather cute."

Sara's smile was fond. "I came to see you earlier, but you were sleeping."

"They told me."

"I wanted to thank you," she said, "for what you did."

Grissom tightened its grip on her hand. "Yes," he said, "It was above and beyond the call of duty."

Sara nodded. "It was…"

"Stop," Greg said, cutting short her interjection of him being brave. "It was nothing. You'd have done the same for me. Either of you."

"I'm proud of you," Grissom said, and Greg's eyes snapped to his boss with surprise. Grissom opened his mouth to say more, but then shrugged and didn't.

Sara turned back toward Greg and beckoned him over. He gave the chair a turn of its wheel, clumsily bumping its side against hers as he stopped. She beckoned his face closer, then when he leaned in his ear toward her with a frown brushed a soft kiss onto his cheek. Greg pulled back, his hand moving to his cheek as he met her gaze. "Thank you," she said with a lift of her shoulder, "For giving us a future."

Greg's eyes shone. His smile wavered, and his eyes lowering diffidently he gave her a stiff nod of acknowledgement. Grissom reached over, extending his left hand across Sara to him, and Greg took it, shaking it hesitantly at first and then more forcefully. Sara felt immensely proud of both of them.

"When are they letting you out?" Grissom asked after a moment, changing the subject onto less emotional grounds.

"Tomorrow."

"So soon?" Sara said with surprise.

Greg nodded. "My mother's on her way. She was looking for an excuse to come and pamper me. Now she got it. You?" he asked Grissom.

"End of the week," Sara replied, stealing the words right out of Grissom's mouth.

"I'm not as young as you," Grissom said, then frowned at Sara. "It's happening already! We're not even married that already you're speaking for me."

And that was how it went on until Greg's nurse returned to take him back to his room, the three of them bantering comfortably with each other and talking about the cunning ruse, the Trojan chair that had saved their lives. Greg already occupied a special place in Sara's heart, but now he'd earned himself a special place in Grissom's too, and it would only be a matter of time until he carried out more duties as a full member of their small family.


	55. Chapter 55

Grissom woke on the morning of the fifth of August the way he had fallen asleep the night before, with a smile on his face and a flutter in his heart. For Sara lay fast asleep next to him, in their bed at home. For a long time he kept his eyes closed simply content to lay there and bask in the warmth of her body while listening to the slightly raspy ebb and flow of her breathing. He didn't dare move, lest he woke her and broke the spell. He didn't want to do that, not just yet. Four months he'd been waiting for this moment, four long months, and he would treasure every second and commit every bit to memory.

The mattress dipped as she stirred. Her hand found its way to him under the covers, and she let out a louder breath, almost a sigh, he thought with a smile, a contented sigh. His eyes opening, he eased himself over onto his left side ready to bid her good morning, his smile widening on noticing that she was still fast asleep. Carefully propping himself up on his elbow he took another moment to watch her, unguarded, peaceful and beautiful as she slept.

She was just mesmerising, her beauty always so entrancing to him. The sheet had ridden down to her stomach, exposing the soft curves of her breasts under her tank top; her head was still centre on the pillow, slightly turned toward him, her mouth opened, a slender arm exposed and relaxed on the opposite side. It was just like he remembered. His hand peeked out from under the sheet, lifting to her face, almost touching, but he stopped it just in time.

It was so good to finally be able to wake up at her side, to see her in such familiar surroundings, knowing this was the first of many such times until she was finally allowed home for good. God, he couldn't wait. Tentatively he reached out his hand to her again, this time allowing it to brush a tendril of hair away from her face, and kept it there a little longer, unwilling to break the contact just yet. His fingers trailed down a light path down the side of her face, along her neckline and shoulder stopping just above her breast.

He snatched his hand away, ashamed at the sudden surge of desire that shot through him, reawakening sensations, a deep yearning for her he tried all his might to quash. How nice would it be, though, to watch as slowly she'd wake, roused by the touch of his hands on her body? How nice would it be to finally be able to make love to her and rekindle that side of their relationship, that inherent connection he'd always been at a loss to explain? No sooner had the thought entered his mind that he chastised himself for it.

Carefully he got out of bed and after a quick bathroom stop went to stand by the window. He didn't want to leave her to wake up alone on her first morning home, yet wasn't sure he could lie next to her and not have inappropriate thoughts. He pulled the curtain back a little and used his fingers to prise the venetian blinds apart, squinting at the harsh morning sunlight that hit his pupils. Another bright day, he thought, maybe they could squeeze in a walk with Hank before he'd have to take her back to the Centre for the day's therapies at ten.

He stood wearing only pyjama bottoms, looking out onto the Japanese-style garden the previous owner had turned the backyard into. He'd been ambivalent about it when they had bought the house, but now appreciated how low maintenance and how practical for Sara it was. She loved that yard more now than she ever did before her accident, choosing to spend most of her time home there playing with Hank or just content to be.

Her progress with mobility was remarkable. She'd regained sensations to her legs and with intense physiotherapy some movement too, and provided someone helped her up she could stand for a few seconds fully supporting her weight. It meant that Grissom was now able to transfer her from the bed to her chair and from her chair to the toilet, or anywhere else for that matter, without having to carry her, which he couldn't do any more on account of his weakened shoulder.

Caring for someone, even someone he loved as deeply as he did Sara, was exhausting, a full-time job he was beginning to realise, one he couldn't do on his own as well as run Grave. Sara came first, and he knew that soon he'd have to think of a more permanent solution. Catherine was doing an outstanding job, both as his friend and right-hand at CSI, stepping into the breach at short notice, or whenever she needed to, whether he asked her to or not, and he knew that when the time came she would be more than ready to take over from him.

Laura, too, was a godsend, still commuting every weekend from Reno, helping him to keep the house together as well as look after Sara. Over the months he had seen the changes in her, how much she'd grown in confidence as a woman but also as a mother, and how happier she was for it. He knew through Brass that she'd recently made contact with her son and expressed a wish to meet her granddaughter, and he hoped that one day she would be able to. She was looking to relocate to Vegas – or as close to Vegas as she could – but so far the search for a new job had yielded nothing and she wasn't willing to – or couldn't afford to – simply give up hers in Reno despite Grissom's repeated offers that she could live at the townhouse until something came up.

A robin landed on one of the branches of the tree overhanging from next door, briefly refocusing his attention. It wasn't just any robin, it was Sara's friend, so tame and comfortable around her that it would come and cross the yard only feet away from where she'd be sitting. Smiling he checked over his shoulder, ready to tell her her friend had returned but she was still fast asleep. So he continued watching the robin, his thoughts drifting back to Sara's first visit home after he'd finally been discharged from hospital himself, when they'd first made the bird's acquaintance as they sipped homemade lemonade in the yard. A lifetime away, it seemed.

"So this is it," he'd said a little apprehensively as the taxicab pulled up outside the townhouse. It was early afternoon and the sun shone high in the sky, illuminating the whole front of the house. Sara's eyes were glued to it, her expression unreadable as she stared through the window. He tightened his hold on her hand. "2205 Beach Front Drive. Our house. _Home_."

Sara didn't say anything. The front door burst open suddenly, Hank bounding out excitedly, yelping and barking a joyful "Welcome home" while Brass and Laura followed a little more sedately but all smiles and complicit looks all the same. Sara swallowed and turned shiny, slightly startled eyes onto him.

"We don't have to do this now if you don't want to," he said, reading her nervousness.

"I want to. I'm just worried I won't remember."

"Does it matter if you don't?" he said softly, and Sara gave him a small, unconvinced nod and smile.

The taxi rear doors opened, and after another squeeze of the hand Grissom hopped out and stood watching next to Laura and Brass while Sara disembarked. Laura picked up on Sara's subdued mood straightaway, sharing concerned looks with both him and Brass, and after a warm but short welcome home Brass and Laura made their excuses, taking Hank with them, leaving them home alone for the first time in over two months.

Grissom's mouth went dry, the heat getting to him, the sling holding his shoulder suddenly heavy and uncomfortable and cutting into the back of his neck. What if it was a mistake, he wondered anxiously? What if it was too soon, or Sara didn't like the house or it didn't feel like home? What if the alterations he'd had made weren't right? Or worse, what if she remembered the last time she'd been there and that fateful run to the park?

"I like it," she said, cutting into his thoughts, and he refocused, watching as she slowly ran her eyes over every inch of the house, taking in the bougainvillea by the front door and small shrubs she'd had a hand in planting before finally settling on the scorched lawn. A smile broke across her face. "It's just as I remember it." She met his gaze and winked, her smile widening as she indicated with a jerk of the head the new access path to the back of the house. "You think the concrete's set yet?"

And just like that all his fears vanished. His face lit up, his head shaking at her teasing. "Let's go find out, shall we?" he said in a chuckle.

And they had, and it was. Everything was just right. The builders had done a good job with the access ramp despite the sloping terrain and tight angle into the back room. Brass and Laura had cleared the space of its clutter, pushing furniture aside and leaving connecting doors open to allow for the bulky wheelchair. A bouquet of spring flowers sat in a vase on the kitchen table, as did a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.

Grissom watched open-mouthed as Sara easily found her way around the main body of the house, her eyes darting all over the place, stopping here and there as silently she took it all in. He'd never been more nervous in his life. She had a look of wonderment about her, as though she was seeing it all for the first time. Her eyes lingered on the stairs for a moment before settling on the upstairs space.

"The lounge," he said when she craned her neck to get a better view. "I'm still waiting on a quote for a chair lift. But there's a television in the bedroom."

Her lips pinched, stifling a smile, but she kept her quip to herself. Again he gave his head a shake of disbelief, and watched as wordlessly she swivelled her chair round to take in the kitchen/diner side of the room. Frowning, she slowly manoeuvred the chair as close to the tall bookshelf as she could. Reaching over with her right hand she picked up the framed photograph of the desert scene that had caught Catherine's attention all those weeks ago and stared at the picture for the longest time before lifting her eyes up to his. The emotion shining in them brought tears to his eyes.

"Thank you," she said in a whisper, and he wasn't quite sure what she was thanking him for.

He blew out a breath and covered the distance to her, slowly kneeling down by her side. "Oh, Sara," he said, overwhelmed, and took her free hand in his, "You make me so happy." Closing his eyes he brought her hand to his mouth. "Welcome home," he said softly, his eyes reopening.

Sara's smile matched his. She set the frame down on her lap and used her right hand to pull him over for a kiss. Her lips were soft, warm, slightly parting and he was more than happy to oblige. "Show me the bedroom," she said, giddy with laughter when they pulled apart, and bursting out in a quiet chuckle of disbelief himself he'd replied, "With pleasure."

The robin flew away. He lowered the blinds and when he pulled back from the window, turning toward the bed he was still smiling broadly. Sara was fully awake, straining to sit up, her eyes blurry with tears. The smile instantly vanished from his lips.

"Hey," he said, rushing to her side and sitting down at the edge of the bed. He helped her into a sitting position and felt his hand to her forehead. "Honey, what's wrong? You're in pain?"

Smiling through her tears she shook her head. Her left hand lifted to his face, stroking down his bearded cheek.

"But you're crying."

"Mjust…happy."

Over the last few weeks her visits home multiplied, short at first, limited to a couple of hours once a week, becoming longer and more frequent as time went on and always planned as thoroughly as a military operation. They would take Hank for walks around the neighbourhood, or just hang out and potter around the house or in the yard. Often he would read to her, or they'd listen to music, watch films and discuss them afterwards.

Other times she'd watch him cook or do CSI paperwork, and he had even begun to tell her about the least distressing cases the lab was overseeing. Never once did she complain, nor wish for times past. Her memory hadn't returned but they'd be instances, little words and phrases, flicker of recognition – strong déjà-vus she called them – that told him it was only a matter of time before it did.

And that was how gradually he began his role as care giver. Little things at first that he didn't mind doing for her anyway, like feeding and dressing her, lifting her in and out of her chair onto the couch where they could hold each other and where it felt like before to him. But two weeks previously they'd finally reached a turning point. They'd been sitting on the couch watching the original_ Bourne Identity _when she'd asked if he could take her to the bathroom. He'd seen chagrin in her eyes, embarrassment even, but also the trust she was putting in him, and the very next day he'd asked Dr Williamson whether he thought she was ready to come home for the night. The doctor had smiled and said yes.

She touched his bare chest, drawing him back to the present, and he flinched slightly. "Come back tobed," she said with a shy smile, "and hold me forlittle while."

He glanced across to the bedside table, checking the time on the alarm clock, 5.17 it read, before flicking his eyes to the bathroom door; he had been all for swapping sides of bed, but she'd refused despite his insistence that she'd be better off closer to the bathroom.

"Five minutes," she said pleadingly, and the yearning he saw in her eyes twisted his heart. "Can hold onfive moreminutes, ifyou dontickle me."

The corner of his mouth twitched up mischievously. "Tickle you, huh?"

"Yes," she laughed.

Grissom's hesitation was short-lived, his need to hold her and prolong the moment winning over his reticence. Gently, he helped her down onto her right side then slipped under the sheet behind her. Tucking his right arm under his head he snuggled as close to her back as possible then draped his left arm over her side, letting his hand rest over the small swell of her stomach. His face nestled against her bare shoulder he closed his eyes and made himself lie very still. Slipping her feet between his legs, Sara let out a contented breath.

"Msorry fell asleep onyou last night," she said after a minute or so.

"It was late," he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade and smiling at the ensuing shiver her body gave, "and you were beat. There'll be other times."

She turned her face toward his on her shoulder and made a dubious humming sound. Her hand came up and gently stroked up and down his arm.

The breath caught in his throat as his body stirred. Wincing, he pulled back from her a little. "Maybe we ought to get up," he said, trying to cover his sudden discomfort, "I mean, we don't know how long it's going to take to get you ready. I wouldn't want to be late back on our first time."

"Wegot plentytime," she said, her bottom half closing the gap between them.

He held his breath, tensing his buttock and stomach muscles away from her, his erection not so budding anymore. The further he moved, the more she shimmied against him; any further back and he'd fall off the edge of the bed.

"Stop wriggling," he said, "Or I'm out on my ass."

Sara gave a giggle and stopped wriggling. Then she fell silent, and he was content to just lie there, holding her, yet acutely aware of the clock ticking. He was about to tempt her out of bed with poached eggs for breakfast when she spoke.

"Mnot scared," she said then paused, and he frowned, unsure what she was talking about, "Are you? I mean…Malittle nervous, but…snatural, right?" She paused again, easing a look in his direction.

He thought about her words for a moment before it dawned on him what she meant, then screwed his eyes shut at the overwhelming sadness that filled him. She was so much braver than he was, confronting every single obstacle with such courage when all he could do was dodge the issue. She may not be scared, but he was petrified. She sounded ready to take their relationship to the next level, but was he? Was it even possible for them to still have a sexual relationship? And what if he couldn't…perform? How would she feel then? How would _he_? What if he hurt her, even if he tried to be soft and gentle? He was so much bigger than her, so much heavier, and not nimble at all.

"Skay," she said, cutting into his thoughts, and he realised she had misinterpreted his silence for reluctance. "If you're notready, wecan wait."

He pressed the side of his face closer to her shoulder. "I want to be ready," he said in a murmur, his warm breath reverberating on her skin. "I'm just worried that―"

"We can takeit slow," she said, swivelling her head so she could look at him, "take time to…."

Smiling as he met her gaze he inched himself back a little to give her space to turn. "Rediscover each other?"

She rolled back almost all the way and nodded. "Elpme turn," she said, "before we both rolloff thebed."

Before she could finish her sentence he'd pushed himself up, carefully stepping over her to the other side of the bed and easing her arm from under her. There he lay down onto his side, propped up on his elbow. Their eyes locked, hers questioning, his solemn. His right hand gently slipped beneath her T-shirt, gliding over the soft skin of her stomach. He felt her sharp intake of breath, heard her gasp of surprise, her body tensing at his touch. Briefly she closed her eyes at the obvious wave of pleasure that washed over her.

Pausing he smiled a shy, enquiring smile. She swallowed, then returned the smile, her right hand moving to his chest, to his shoulders, his throat, pulling his face closer, her left hand covering his on her stomach. She wanted this as much as he did. Their lips met for a slow lingering kiss, parting, tasting, devouring as they sought one another. His eyes closed at the rush of excitement that came over him, and he found himself transported back to the last time he had made love to her. Soon the kiss deepened, becoming hard and urgent, his hands and fingers finding favourite spots as hers pulled his body closer to hers.

There were so many ways they could make love, he realised then, so many different ways he could make her feel loved and wanted, and whole and beautiful again. And god, he wanted that above everything else. She was such a beautiful person both inside and outside, and she deserved to be shown. Before her accident he'd believed his love for her absolute but he had been wrong as every single day his love grew a little more.

Gently he pulled back from her. His breathing was laboured, his heartbeat quick as he watched her. With a hard swallow and her eyes steadfast on his, she trailed her hand down his chest, her nails scratching, tickling tantalisingly slowly down to his navel, briefly stopping at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms before delving under. The moan that escaped his mouth was low and pained and needing.

He stilled her hand and smiled and shook his head softly. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath, and the emotion in her eyes, the love and devotion he saw mirrored there, was almost enough to take him over the edge, and he wouldn't allow himself to let go until she was ready, however long it took.

He pushed up onto his knees and slipped both hands under her top, slowly sliding them, and it, up her sides to her chest. With an arch of her back and a lift of her head, he removed the top, leaving her breasts exposed, pert, heaving and inviting. Her body was the same as before, he thought, and yet it wasn't. It was thinner, less muscular with two long-healed incisions on the left side of her abdomen, he could feel them now under his fingers travelling over her skin, and yet he knew it like the back of his hand, better than his own body.

His eyes on her face he trailed light fingers all around her chest and stomach, deliberately staying away from her breasts, down to her navel and back up again. His strokes and brushes were slow, unhurried and tantalising, this as much a discovery for him as for her. Instinctively she knew to keep her eyes open, locked to his, the other's yearning mirrored.

When her breathing became groans and needy moans, slowly increasing in intensity, he cupped her right breast in his hand, lowering his face to it, bringing it to his mouth, in turn licking, suckling and biting the nipple, gently teasing her the way he knew she favoured. Her reaction was immediate. With a deep, low moan she closed her eyes, her back arching toward him as a look of surprise mixed with intense pleasure crossed her face.

He realised then that for her it was their first time together and that at that moment in time he probably knew her body better than she did. He found the knowledge truly empowering, almost freeing, and slowly he set about showing her how well they fitted together. And maybe they wouldn't be able to make love in the traditional sense for a long time, if ever, but for Grissom it didn't matter.

Afterwards as they lay, slightly breathless and bewildered in each other's arms and blissfully unaware of the time, Grissom began to make plans for the future. Smiling he pressed a kiss to her hair and wondered about the not-so-hush-hush plans for the forthcoming fundraising event he wasn't supposed to know about. At least Catherine had had the presence of mind not to have it on his birthday. Still, turning fifty only served to remind him how quickly time flowed and how little of it he had left with her.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Laura's voice filled the silence. "Gil, Sara," she called in a loud whisper, her smile clearly heard in her voice, "it's time to get up."

Sara turned her face toward him and they shared a look, their lips pinching in amusement at the thought that they might have been overheard. Whereas in the past he would have felt embarrassed, now he just felt proud, proud and happy and very much in love.


	56. Chapter 56

"Start over with the left end extending an inch and a half below the right end," Grissom read out in a sigh as he picked both ends of the bowtie hanging around his neck. "Then cross over the longer end and pass it up through the loop. Form the front loop by doubling up the shorter end and placing it across the collar points."

Refocusing his attention to his reflection in the full length mirror in front of him he repeated the instructions aloud, his fingers moving a little hesitantly at first but soon finding a rhythm, the written words printed off the internet somehow a lot easier for his mind to process than the much-hated step-by-step diagrams on the instruction sheet provided when purchasing the bowtie.

"Hold this front loop with the thumb and forefinger of your left hand, and drop the long end down over the front." A deep-seated frown of uncertainty creased his brow, but his fingers, somewhat surprisingly, followed his spoken directions to the letter. "Place the right forefinger, pointing up, on the bottom half of the hanging part. Pass up the front loop and…poke the resulting loop through the knot behind the front loop. Even ends and tighten."

He paused and made a dubious, still slightly disbelieving sound, still quite uncertain how he'd got there. Automatically his head angled upward, coming nearer the mirror as he carefully studied his handiwork, his resulting purse of the mouth fairly satisfied with the effort. Not perfect, but close; certainly bowtie-looking by any standards. He straightened the wing-tip collar of his crisp white Tuxedo shirt, raked his fingers through his short curls and stepped back from the mirror.

"Not bad for a first attempt," he told his rapt audience before quickly pulling the bowtie free and starting over, and over again until his fingers could tie the knot from memory. Then he pulled the black dinner jacket off the hanger and carefully slipped it on. "How do I look?" he asked, smoothing his hands down over the lapels and sides.

He watched in the mirror as Hank cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful and uncertain for a moment before giving a small whimper of approval. Today was the sixteenth of August, the afternoon of the charity fundraising evening, an event everyone had so painstakingly tried to keep from him, and he would look his very best. Down from Reno for the occasion Laura was spending the afternoon with Sara, doing 'girly things' he'd been told, but the large suitcase full of toiletries and assorted material had given the game away, and he knew they were spending the afternoon getting ready.

Sara's blue cocktail dress wasn't in the closet anymore and some of her jewellery was gone from the box on top of the chest of drawers. Not that he was supposed to have noticed, of course, but he had, and his heart swelled with anticipation. He checked the alarm clock, thinking he had plenty of time left to put the finishing touches to his own surprise to Sara before he was supposedly due to turn up for shift. He'd booked a room at the Tangiers for the two of them for the night, had cleared it first with Doctor Williamson of course, with a plan to literally sweep her off her feet for an after-party of a different kind. They were long due a little fun and pampering.

He'd had his Tux dry-cleaned, his dress shoes polished to a gleam, even going as far as purchasing a brand-new bowtie, his old one having long been discarded. His hair was freshly trimmed, his beard too, and all he needed now was Catherine to make the call, volunteering at the last minute to swap shift with him. Well, that was how he figured it would happen anyway, or else he would just have to play hooky. He smiled at the thought, marvelling quite uncharacteristically at how much he was looking forward to it all himself.

The bedside phone rang. Thinking Catherine was right on cue he quickly crossed the room, picking it up with a smile. The ready quip died on his lips however at the harried male voice that immediately filled the line.

"Grissom? Vartann here. Man, I've been calling your cell, leaving messages after messages for the last half-hour. I need you to come out to a scene off Boulder Highway ASAP."

The wind was literally knocked out of him, and he took a few seconds to process the detective's words, part of him still wondering, despite Vartann's convincing tone, if Catherine was behind the call. "You're kidding me, right?" he asked with disbelief.

"I wish I was. It's not pretty. Body dump in an industrial estate. Not fresh, crawling with all sorts of…_things_."

Grissom slumped down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. "Can't days cover it?"

"They're swamped. Besides, roster says you're on tonight―"

"I am," he said, dejected.

"And I figure what's a few more hours, right?"

"Right."

"And since you're the bugman…"

He sighed, and checked his watch again. The function didn't start until seven; drinks, meal – which he guessed Sara wouldn't attend – then after-dinner speeches, and whatever else was planned. That gave him what? Just about enough time, he figured, provided it was a straightforward case. "Okay," he said at last, albeit still reluctantly, "I'll be there as soon as I can, but I got one errand to run first. How far out are you exactly?"

Vartann told him the location, and he made hurried notes, then advised him on how best to preserve the scene until he got there. After he'd hung up, Hank gave a commiserating whimper and he reached over to give him a rub around the ears. "Best laid plans, hey?" he told the dog in a sigh. Then he looked down at himself still wearing the Tux and blew out a long and very dejected breath.

Maybe he ought to just call Catherine, and be done with the charade. Missing the event and Sara's night was simply not an option. Aware of the clock ticking Grissom didn't waste any time, quickly getting changed into work clothes and tidying the tuxedo back in its cover. Then he picked up his overnight bag, suit cover and dress shoes, hurrying out of the house and to the car with a bewildered Hank in tow.

"Catherine," he hissed under his breath as he drove Hank to the sitters, "You'd better have a contingency plan, or else."

* * *

><p>"Sara?"<p>

Sara was sitting in her favourite sunny spot in the Quad, dozing lightly as she waited for her mother to return. A smile formed, her eyes fluttering open at the sound of her brother's voice. He stood in front of the sun, casting her in shadow. "Matthew, you came."

Shrugging good-humouredly Matthew returned her smile. "I said I would, didn't I?"

Sara's smile broadened, her shoulder lifting, showing that she'd had her doubts. "I'm glad you did."

He bent down, awkwardly bussing her on the cheek. "You look good," he said, pulling back sharply. "How are you?"

"I'm doing very well," she said emphatically.

"I'm very pleased." His smile lingered as he watched her, then his gaze flicked off to a point in the distance beyond her. "How's Gil?"

"He's good."

Sara took a moment to study her brother, thinking that despite how much better he looked he still seemed rather tense. In the weeks since he'd returned to Baltimore he had rung the Centre a few times, asking after her, and a couple of times they'd even spoken, albeit briefly and awkwardly, but as far as she knew he hadn't yet reciprocated Laura's attempts at rebuilding a relationship with her.

"Tonight's a surprise for him," she went on animatedly, but mindful of her speech since she knew Matthew wasn't as used to it as everyone else. "Well, I think he may have worked it out, but he hasn't let on. He's not here though, but…mom is. Well, she's gone out on an errand for me."

Matthew gave a slow nod. His eyes flicked up again focusing on the same spot beyond her, and Sara turned her head over her shoulder to see what had caught his eye. She was about to ask him if everything was all right when the words died on her lips.

"There's someone I want you to meet," he said a little hesitantly, "before it gets crazy tonight."

Sara didn't acknowledge his words. She could only stare, speechless, at the two women – well, a woman and a girl really – standing under the shade of the arched walkway behind them. They smiled when they noticed Sara watching, and Matthew waved them over, briefly leaving Sara's side to meet them.

"Nessa, Sarah, sweetie," he said when they reached her side, "This is Sara, my sister." Then he turned toward Sara. "Sara, this is Vanessa…and Sarah."

"Nice to meet you, Sara," Vanessa said, immediately stepping forward and extending a confident hand, which after peeling her eyes away from Sarah, Sara shook with a smile.

"Nice to meet you too," she replied warmly. Her eyes flicked to Sarah, standing slightly back from her mother. "Hi, Sarah," she said, raising her right hand in a friendly wave. She swallowed and formed her words even more carefully than usual. "I know it must be a shock for you to meet me, and to see me like this, but…" her eyes filled and she took in a deep breath, "I'm so happy to finally meet you."

Sarah looked at her mother who gave her an encouraging nod and smile, then stepped forward a little hesitantly. She smiled unexpectedly, surprising Sara when she quickly closed the distance to her, leaning down for a warm hug. Sara's arms came up, awkwardly returning the embrace, watery eyes lifting to her brother's first and then to Vanessa's, silently thanking them both for this treasured moment.

Matthew then explained that when he'd returned home from Vegas he had sought Vanessa out and told her everything, opening himself up in a way he had never been able to in the past, and that instead of driving them further apart as he had feared it had brought them a little closer, maybe not as a couple, but as two parents of the same child. Then together they had told Sarah, and he had been able to make a start at rebuilding his relationship with her. Trust, Sara thought, it was all to do with trust, and she was glad her brother had found it in him to confide in the ones he loved and begin to turn the page.

Now she hoped he could do the same with their mother. She was smiling at something Sarah said when she looked up, meeting her mother's anxious gaze dead on. Laura stood, frozen to the spot, watching the scene from a distance and it was clear to Sara that Laura wasn't sure whether she would be welcomed or intruding if she stepped forward.

Matthew must have noticed Laura standing there, because Sara heard his sharp release of breath, as though he was gearing himself up, and then the conversation stopped altogether. Sara hoped with all her might that Laura's timing wasn't off and the happy mood soured. But it wouldn't be Laura's fault, and the meeting had to happen some time. Now was as good a time as ever.

Sara lifted her right hand off her lap, reaching for Matthew's left one, and squeezed it. Matthew returned the squeeze and his eyes still intent on his mother nodded his head. Sara held her breath as plastering a trembling smile on her face Laura covered the distance to them before hesitantly stopping a few feet away. She focused her attention on her son as though asking him if it was all right for her to be there.

"Matthew," she said, trying but failing to keep the tremor from her voice. She smiled and, although Sara could tell she wanted to, made no move toward him. Her gaze moved to Vanessa, and then Sarah. Her lips pinched, but again she neither moved nor spoke.

"Mom," he said, stealing the word from Sara's mouth, "This is Vanessa." He turned toward his daughter, taking her hand, gently tugging her a little forward. "And Sarah, your granddaughter."

Tears filled Laura's eyes. Then she swallowed, her hands twitching up by her sides as though she wanted to hug them but didn't dare to. Vanessa stepped forward, breaking the awkward moment, and the two women embraced briefly. Then Sarah came forward, and Laura paused, watching her for a moment before bringing her right hand up to stroke her granddaughter's cheek. "You're beautiful," she said in a whisper, a smile breaking through her falling tears. "Can I hold you?"

Sarah's eyes flicked to her mother's, and then she nodded. Laura opened her arms, wrapping them around her granddaughter. She said something to her while they hugged but Sara didn't hear what it was. Vanessa and Matthew exchanged a look, and the latter smiled, nodding his head at his ex-wife.

"Mrs Sidle," Vanessa said right on cue, "Where can we get a drink? Only, we're not used to such dry heat and…"

"Laura," Laura said, "You must call me Laura, please." She flicked her gaze to Sara who smiled that she would be fine if left alone with Matthew. "Come with me," she then said with a warm smile at her granddaughter, "I'll show you to the cafeteria." Her smile faded, a look of uncertainty suddenly crossing her face. "I mean…if it's okay."

"Thank you," Vanessa replied, "That would be great."

Laura's face relaxed, and she opened out her hand, indicating the way. Matthew waited until the three women were out of earshot to sit down on the bench next to Sara. "That didn't go too badly," he said, spreading his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles.

"What did you expect?" Sara retorted without malice. "It's been so long, Matthew. It's time to…move on and forget the past. Look to the future. Life's too short. Sarah's such a gift. A wonderful gift." She paused and shook off her sudden melancholy. "Thank you for bringing them here to meet me. And mom. It means a lot to her that you did that."

"I know."

She watched him uncertainly for a moment, then said, "What is it, Matthew?"

He sighed, and she could see the inner debate on his face. He had something to tell her, and it wasn't good news. "Maybe it'd be better if Gil was here. I mean, he needs to know too."

"Mattie?"

He seemed to startle at the diminutive, and looking over at her plastered a bright grin. "It can wait. I'm sorry…I don't want to ruin tonight. It's a special night for you. I mean you've had your hair done especially…and everything."

Sara's hand shot up to her hair, already styled for the evening, a smile forming at his teasing. "Nothing can ruin tonight, I promise you."

He stared at her for a long moment, and he must have read her resolve because eventually he sighed again before shifting position on the bench until he faced her. "Listen, Sara," he then said, his tone solemn as he took her hands in his, "you know how I told you I was suing the department for damages on your behalf?"

Sara's expression darkened, and she nodded.

"Well, they've―they're being difficult. The lawyers are still at it, battling it out but it looks like they're refusing to settle."

Sara's head dipped as she considered his words. "How much for?" she asked, looking up. "How much are you suing the department for?"

He shrugged. "The lawyers did the math, looked at how much your treatment, therapies and care will cost, taking into account your loss of earnings since you won't be able to work anymore…They came up with…1.5 million dollars."

Her eyes widened. "1.5 million dollars?" she repeated, stunned.

"They're arguing that the attack didn't happen while you were on the job, that there was no way it could have been foreseen and prevented, that there is no liability on their part…but I don't believe that's the real reason."

"Drop it."

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed, darkened with inexplicable foreboding. "The suit, I want you to drop it."

"But why, Sara? You're going to need this money…" Matthew looked up beyond her again, his words trailing off, and she knew the trio was back and the moment lost. He smiled, indicating with a flick of his eyes at Sara that this particular topic of conversation was closed for now.

She could only sigh at the poor timing, but she wasn't going to let what Matthew had just told her spoil her good mood, or her evening out. Plastering a bright smile on her face she turned toward her new-found family with a million and one questions on her lips.

* * *

><p>"Sofia!" Grissom exclaimed with surprise on stepping inside his office. He stopped and frowned, then wearily covered the distance to his desk, setting his files down on top of the ever-present pile. "You're…sitting at my desk."<p>

Sofia made a show of surveying her surroundings. "And so I am," she marvelled with bewilderment, as though she'd been teleported there without her noticing.

Grissom's frown deepened, then he pursed his mouth. "What can I do for you?" he asked a little tersely, waiting for her to move and get out of his chair so he could rest his tired back.

She didn't. On the contrary, she seemed quite at ease there as the queen of his castle. "You got this the wrong way round," she said, a wide smile dancing on her face as she rotated the chair left to right, and back again, as though trying it out, "It's more a question of what I can do for _you_."

He sighed. "Listen, Sofia, I'm not in the mood. I've been out at a scene already. My back's killing me and my shift's not even started. Catherine's off tonight, and I got―"

"Somewhere else to be?" she offered, a brow lifting knowingly.

He frowned, then gave a long sigh. "I get it," he said, not getting it at all. "Where do you need me?"

She burst out laughing. "Don't tell me you haven't twigged yet?"

"Twigged?"

Her brow rose meaningfully and he stared at her with puzzlement for a few seconds before it dawned on him what she was taking about. The overwhelming weariness he still felt only a moment ago vanished. The tightening of his mouth smoothed as his face lit up, first with disbelief, then with anticipation as his heartbeat quickened with excitement. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she repeated simply.

His smile broadened. "I could just kiss you right now."

Her returning grin was wide and playful. "What's stopping you?"

He laughed, but kept the desk between them. "What about―"

She raised her hand, stopping him. "I'm only minding the fort until midnight – giving out assignments and generally playing boss. Catherine assures me she'll be back by then. Nick, Warrick and Greg are attending the do themselves until nine, and then I'm to call them with assignments. Big wigs have okayed everything – they're all there themselves. I promise I won't go out on the field, or play with your displays."

Fixing him with a dancing smile she tapped her cheek playfully, demanding her kiss, but he could only stare back at her, dumbfounded and rooted to the spot.

"Go on, go!" she laughed, making a scuttling motion with her fingers. "Go, before someone sees you."

"Don't snoop," he said, raising his finger in mild warning.

She gave a delighted waggle of her brows. "You wouldn't know it even if I did."

Grissom's smile was wide and incredulous. With a shake of the head he made to go, then stopped, glancing over his shoulder. "Thank you, Sofia. I owe you one."

"No, you don't," she replied softly. "Catherine does, and I'll collect." She paused, her gaze turning thoughtful, almost wistful. "Still got the bowtie? You know it's a black-tie do, right?"

"Got myself a new one," he said, his lips twitching with giddy excitement. "Been practising all afternoon. I think I got the hang of it now."

"Good for you, Gil."

He moved to the door, then paused, still hesitant to leave.

"Go!" she said, "Your precious lab is in good hands." He gave her a nod and was halfway into the corridor when she called, "Oh, and many happy returns."

He stopped and shook his head, then turned back and popping his head round the door smiled, "My birthday's not until tomorrow, but thank you."

Her grin was smug and very knowing. She checked her watch. "You know, tomorrow's almost upon us already." She waved him off again. "Come on, go, have fun, or Cinderella _will_ miss the ball."

"Cinderella is already at the ball."

She laughed. "Say 'Hi' to her for me. And tell her I put a bid on lot twelve."

His wide smile slowly morphed into a frown. "Lot twelve?"

She gave him a teasing wink. "You'll see."

* * *

><p>AN: We're on the home stretch now…a few more chapters before it all ends, followed by an epilogue. Thank you with your patience with this story, and have a great weekend!


	57. Chapter 57

A/N: I thought we were in a drought! I'm praying for sunshine, a little warmth and dryness for this bank holiday weekend here in the UK. I'm cold. Sigh…

* * *

><p>"Thank god you're here!"<p>

Quickly pocketing his key card Grissom turned toward Catherine, the obvious relief in her voice sadly confirming his suspicions. At a glance he took in her appearance; long blond hair loosely pinned up at the top of the head; deep blue strapless, split to the thigh evening dress that emphasised _every_ curve and trailed all the way down to the floor, covering heels that made her stand taller than him; gold diamond jewellery and discreet makeup that complemented the look perfectly. Catherine had a flair for style and tonight was no exception.

"You didn't think I'd come?" he asked, a brow rising with interest.

"I heard about the call-out," she replied, and he gave her a nod, "I'm sorry."

His shoulder lifted feigning casualness. "I'm here now." He paused and smiled. "You look beautiful," he said, and he meant it.

Her smile broadening in thanks, she touched his bearded cheek then ran an appraising gaze over his work clothes. "Good job I got you some clothes," she said, lifting the suit cover she was holding in her left hand to his eye line.

Grissom frowned, making out the outline of a tuxedo through the clear window on the front. "Where's this one come from?" he asked, baffled.

"It's rented. Laura had a good look through your wardrobe for yours, but couldn't find it."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Dry cleaners," he said, satisfied he had pulled the wool over everyone's eyes.

Her eyes narrowed. "You knew?" she enthused with surprise.

He gave an easy shrug. "I've known for a few weeks now."

Catherine's face fell. "Sara wanted it to be a surprise."

"Oh, it will be," he said emphatically.

She stared at him with a bright smile and he wondered whether, like Sofia before her, she was sizing him up too. Before he could question her on the auction she gave her head a shake then jerked her thumb toward the main body of the hotel. "Come on," she said, "You haven't got long. There's a cloakroom over there where you can get changed."

He gave her a very slow shake of the head. "I got a better idea." Without another word, he turned on his heels, headed across the hotel lobby to the bank of elevators.

"Grissom, wait!" she called after him. "Where are you going? We haven't got time for this!"

Reaching forward to press the button for the elevators he shot her a sidelong glance. "We're going to make time." The doors immediately slid open and Grissom embarked. He turned, pressing the button for the third floor. "You're coming, or what?"

Catherine startled, stepping in just as the doors began to shut. "Gil, what's going on?" she asked as she draped the suit cover over her arm.

"You tell me," he said, keeping his eyes forward.

He heard Catherine's short sigh, but she didn't comment. The doors pinged open, and reaching for the key card in his pocket Grissom stepped out, following the signs to room 315.

"You got yourself a room?" she exclaimed as he swiped the card, unlocking the door. Holding the door open he let her through first and she walked straight to the bed, dumping her load onto the back a chair on the way. There she gave a disbelieving shake of the head, then lazily ran her fingertips over the dinner jacket neatly laid out for him.

"I dropped it off this afternoon," he said a little hesitantly, needing to fill the silence, "On my way out to the crime scene."

She looked up, meeting his eyes, then gave him a nod, her expression pensive.

"Listen, Cath," he said, pre-empting what he knew was coming, "you don't have to worry…I'll do it."

Catherine's brow creased with puzzlement. "Do what?"

"The auction. You know I will. Of course I will, for Sara. But you didn't have to make such a secret of it." He sighed, his shoulder lifting, while Catherine's frown deepened. He began to pace the room. "It's just…embarrassing, you know? All these people watching, bartering like you're a piece of meat. It's not my thing. You know it's not…" He stopped pacing abruptly and fixed her with a worried stare. "What if Sofia's bid won? I mean…"

"Gil, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The auction?"

"What about it?"

"Lot twelve?" He scrunched his eyes shut, saying in a gasp, "me?"

Catherine's utter bewilderment slowly made way to amusement, then downright hilarity. Her lips pinched into a thin line, but she couldn't keep her snort of laughter in. "Oh, Gil, but it's all for a good cause," she said, chuckling. "Besides it's too late now. And you don't want to let Sara down, do you? She has great hopes for lot twelve."

"God, Catherine, you should have seen the predatory look on Sofia's face when she told me." He shuddered at the thought. "You can't let her win it. Promise me you'll put a bid in yourself. I'd pay you back, of course."

"I can't do that. It wouldn't be playing by the rules." She paused, and watched him for a moment. "Sara's counting on you. Tonight's very special to her."

"I know that." Sitting down at the edge of the bed he took in and exhaled a deep breath, then nodded his head solemnly. "Okay, I'll do it," he then said, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face.

Catherine's face softened with affection. "And you would too, wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked with puzzlement.

"There is an auction," she said, "And lot twelve is very special to Sara. But I can promise you, you are not it."

He swallowed. "No?"

Slowly she shook her head.

"What about what Sofia said?"

"I think she was having a little fun at your expense," she replied, and he shook his head with disbelief that he'd been had. "You almost look disappointed," she mused, smiling in a thoughtful way. "But it's not a bad idea. I'll file it away for future events. Come on," she then said, "Get changed. I need to get back downstairs."

"I'm going to take a shower first. I'll be down in ten minutes."

Grissom ran his hand through his damp curls, straightened the wing tips of his collar and stepped into the largest of the Tangiers' conference rooms, turned into a ballroom for the night. The conversations were animated, bursts of laughter drifting up to him over the soft music playing in the background. Glasses were being refilled, coffees served as dessert plates were cleared away. There easily were a hundred people there seated around round, beautifully decorated tables elegantly arranged in clusters in the middle of the room. Slowly he swept his gaze over the joyful faces of the guests, noticing Doctor Williamson and his Torrey Pines executives to the left as well as some of Desert Palm's hospital more senior representatives, and many high-ranking law enforcement personnel. Sheriff Burdick caught his eye briefly then had a word to the mayor's ear next to him but Grissom's eyes moved away before he could see the mayor's reaction.

One table in particular, toward the front of the room, drew his attention as he noticed Warrick's tall frame first, then Nick and Greg on either side of Vanessa, and then Sarah next to her father. Brass sat to Warrick's left, with his back to him, next to Laura, everyone looking their very best. The scene warmed his heart, everyone that mattered to Sara gathered around one table and on the face of it getting along. He couldn't see Sara, and guessed that the place between Laura and Matthew that stood empty, the gap seemingly still wide between mother and son, was hers. He hoped that tonight, in these surroundings, in this special moment, they could start to bridge that gap. Matthew suddenly looked up straight at him, holding his gaze while he nodded his greeting, and Grissom returned the gesture with a half-smile.

He let his eyes travel over the rest of the room. Great care and thought had gone into the decors and colour scheme, soft hues of cream table linen over Burgundy detailing and flowers. Up ahead was an empty stage with a podium and microphone, ready for the after-dinner speeches and auction. To its left, the items to be auctioned, each displayed atop cream pillars, all intricately lit up to illuminate a central piece, and he chuckled to himself, shaking his head at his idiocy earlier.

Catherine appeared in front of him, peering at his neck. "The tie's even straight," she said, smiling as she met his eyes.

A bigger smile curled his lip at her teasing. "I'm quite the pro now."

"Come on, let me show you."

Silently they walked round the edge of the room to the much quieter display area. Catherine walked up to a table and picked up a couple of fresh champagne flutes and a programme, while he made his way to the displays. She joined his side, handing him the programme and a flute.

"I thought you had shift tonight," he remarked lightly.

Pausing with the flute touching her lips Catherine lifted her eyes to him, a smile forming when she noticed the slight twitching of his lips. "I'm going to need it," she said, gulping down a large mouthful of champagne.

"So, this auction," he said, indicating the display with the programme.

"I'm hosting it," she said with a giddy shrug of the shoulders after she'd finished swallowing. She lifted her flute to him. "Hence a little Dutch courage." Her gaze turned to lot one, and he inched his face forward, examining what looked like a prettily-decorated glazed fruit bowl to him. "All the pieces were created by local disabled people," she explained, and one eyebrow rising in interest he refocused on her, "artists, I should say, their work ranging from handcraft and jewellery, to earthenware pottery and sculptures, to paintings and photographs." Grissom watched enraptured at Catherine's obvious pride and excitement with the event.

"Sara's doctor got me in touch with the organisation," she went on almost without pause as she took another quick sip of the champagne, "and it all mushroomed from there. They do fantastic work to give artists with disabilities a platform on which to showcase their work, and raise a lot of money in the bargain. I thought it could be something Sara might want to get involved with…you know, when the time is right for her."

Grissom's face pursed in thought and he brought the flute to his mouth. He hadn't thought about it before, but why not? She certainly had a photographer's eye, and he knew it was something she enjoyed doing and was very good at.

"I've my eye on the most gorgeous glass art I've ever seen," Catherine said, pointing to their right. "Lily's here with Sam, and I've been dropping hints. He…donated the use of the room and the staff…" Pausing suddenly she gave him a waggle of her eyebrows and he nodded his understanding.

"You've done fantastic work," he said. "Thank you. And judging by the mood all around it's a success."

"Success will be measured by how much money we raise," she said, waving his compliment off. "I hope you brought your credit card with you because none of it will come cheap." She gave his elbow a little nudge. "I know you'll make good on your pledge."

"What pledge?"

"Lot twelve, of course."

His face softened with amusement. "How do you know I will bid?"

"Oh, you will," she said confidently, and slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, moving him along to the next piece.

Her name was called, and she promptly excused herself, leaving him to peruse the rest of the artwork by himself. He moved slowly from piece to piece, carefully admiring each and every one for what it had to offer until he got to lot twelve. There he stopped, his face inching forward and down with disbelief, his eyes remaining fixed on the photograph for a long time. He scrutinised every square inch, every nuance and shade, marvelling at how very different, how very more dramatic this familiar red mountain looked in black and white, now that it had been mounted and framed. He didn't need to check the artist's name on the card below the photograph to know it was one Sara had taken on their first date – well, he thought with a soft smile, their _second_ first date.

"Like what you're seeing?" a soft voice asked behind him.

He startled. He had been so totally engrossed that he hadn't noticed he wasn't alone anymore. "Very much so," he replied quietly, keeping his eyes on the photograph. "It's very stunning, isn't it? How the artist could…create such warmth and depth while also conveying the starkness and desolation of the desert scene. It's just...stunning." A smile crossed his face, very pleased, almost smug. "I've seen more of her work, you know."

"You know her?"

His smile widened, and he eased a look in the woman's direction. "I know her very well." He let his gaze caress her eyes lovingly, then her face, taking in the wide dancing and dazzling smile, wavy brown locks tousled in a Pixie cut, as he would be told it was called later, the blue dress and bare feet with painted toenails, blue like the flower tattoo on her ankle. His smile stiffened a little. His gaze flew back to her face, questioning.

She laughed. "Don't ask," her eyes told him, so he didn't.

"I think she is both very beautiful and talented," he said instead, tender gaze boring deep inside her as a half-smile lingered on.

"Oh, don't know aboudat," she whispered a little coyly, reaching up her hand to point toward the bottom left corner of the picture, "See deseshadows? Ifink they couldbe sharper, more defined. Ifink thatwould make for better picture."

Grissom's mouth pursed thoughtfully as he stared at the photograph. "I disagree," he said truthfully. He turned and winked, then leaned down to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. His face lingered close to hers for a moment while he filled himself with her sweet, intoxicating scent. "I hear her work isn't cheap," he murmured in her ear before pulling back.

Sara burst out laughing. "Sfor good cause. Besides, you don'tve to buyit. I hear there's plenty interest onit."

His face fell with a put-upon sigh. "I hear that to. But I'm a fan and collector. And I have the perfect place where to hang it." He paused, and they looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds. He felt so happy, so content, and so proud. "I'm so pro—," he began, then stopped himself, because only the privous day she'd chided him for constantly saying how proud he was. "What?" he asked instead when he saw the darkening in her eyes.

Her mouth opened, then shut and opened again. Her shoulder lifted, and she forced a smile. She looked a little melancholic all of a sudden. "You look justlike you do on Greg'sfilm," she remarked a little wistfully, and he knew what she was thinking: that sadly she didn't, despite the dress and the carefully-recreated look.

The rush of love that coursed through him in that instant caught him completely off-guard, so overwhelming in its intensity that for a moment he could only stare at her, awestruck and humbled. "And you look gorgeous," he said in a solemn tone, short of better words, words that would describe her more eloquently, "breathtakingly so." A warm smile slowly spread across her face, and willing to recapture the carefree mood of a moment ago he gave her a teasing smile. "Besides, I hear bare feet and painted toenails are 'all the rage' at the moment," he said, miming quotation marks.

How could he make her realise that none of that mattered? That what they had now was better than what they had then? That now, they didn't have to hide the love they felt for each other, they could just lay it out for all the world to see. He leaned down, his right hand lovingly moving to the side of her face and as Sara's head tilted up toward his with surprise he pressed soft lips to hers. Her mouth yielded open in a gasp, and he took time and pride to give her the most languorous kiss he'd ever dared in public. When they broke off for breath he didn't pull back from her. His face stayed close to hers for a few seconds, foreheads touching, while he stared at her and tried to catch his breath.

"Tonight in front of all these people I don't have to pretend I'm not in love with you," he said in an unhurried whisper, then more urgently, "How soon can we leave?"

Sara laughed, the glint in her eyes once again happy and carefree. "Nottil clock strikes twelve," she said, giddy. Her right hand came up, stroking down the side of his face. "Wasbeginning to worry. Wasn't sure you'dmake it atall. I hearyou got—"

"There you are!" Laura exclaimed, cutting Sara off mid-sentence. "I've been looking for you everywhere." Straightening up Grissom turned toward the older woman. "Isn't this just…wonderful?" she marvelled at him.

Frowning she lifted her hand to the side of her mouth, making a wiping motion and with a look toward Sara who was trying not to laugh Grissom gingerly wiped the lipstick off his lips.

"All these people dressed to the nines," Laura went on without pause, "all this pomp, I've never been to anything like it. It's just so…overwhelming."

"You look lovely," Grissom said, leaning across to kiss her cheek.

Laura's hand moved to the spot he had just kissed, surprised. "Not as lovely as Sara does," she beamed. "Come and join us, there is someone I want you to meet."

As they followed Laura to the table Grissom shared a look with Sara. "Mafew's here," she said in a whisper, "and he's brought Vanessa andSarah."

"I saw," he replied, his eyes fixing on hers, a question in them.

"Well, twas little awkward at first, but the champagne's helped."

"And Sarah? How is she handling it all?"

"She's incredible. Sheruns rings round mybrover." She gave a giggle of delight. "She'sfinking of becoming vegetarian."

Chuckling, Grissom touched her arm, glad that everything was coming together for her and her family, and it was heart-warming to know that some good would come out of this ordeal. Sara stopped in her tracks suddenly, and he turned toward her with a frown.

"Know it's yourbirfday tomorrow," she said, "and that weplanned tospend daytogever, but I kindasaid I'd spendit wivthem. They're…leaving Friday, and donknow when—"

"Hey, don't worry," he said, stopping her rushed flow of words. In all the excitement she was forgetting to watch her speech. "It doesn't matter. We can celebrate my birthday any time. It's only right that you'd want to spend your time with your family and catch up with them. I-I…can do something else. I've lots to catch up with at work and…"

Sara's forehead was creased with a deep frown. "No, Gil," she said, "You're coming wivus. We're all samefamily now."

His face softened with love and he gave her a nod of understanding. "I look forward to it."

Sara's face lit up again, and she motioned for them to go forth. Several times as they weaved their way to their table people he knew either through work or Torrey Pines caught his eye, smiling or dipping their heads in greeting, and he found himself returning the smiles and nods quite proudly, for the first time in his life not minding the attention quite so much. Smiling and talking animatedly, Laura, Vanessa and Greg watched as they approached. Everybody else was gone. With one glance at Greg, he learned that Nick and Warrick had left, heeding a call from Sofia.

"Vanessa," he said, recognising the woman he'd spoken to on the phone from the photograph, "It's a pleasure to meet you." He made to kiss her on the cheek then stopped, hesitating, before going for it. Briefly catching Sara's eye when he pulled back he gave her an imperceptible wink. "Are you enjoying the evening?"

"What isn't there to enjoy?" she retorted with evident pleasure, and Grissom couldn't help noticing the many empty champagne bottles on the table and the half-full flute in her hand.

She was waxing lyrical about the food, the decors and the company, when Sarah returned to the table, joining the group a little shyly. He couldn't help searching her face, her body language and mannerisms for traces of Sara, but apart from the lanky frame he didn't find any. She'd obviously taken most of her looks from her mother.

"Hi," he said with a wide smile and extending his hand which she shook a little gingerly. "I'm Gil, your _Aunt_ Sara's…fiancé." Sara's playful bat of the hand on his arm made Sarah laugh. "You're having fun?"

"It's okay," she replied in typical teenage fashion, but the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her words. "I'm looking forward to the auction, though. My father said I could bid for him."

Grissom's brow rose, and he shared a knowing look with Sara. Who _wasn't_ bidding on lot twelve, he wondered? And how much was it going to cost him to keep his collection intact?

"Where's Matthew?" Laura asked.

"Gone to the bathroom," Vanessa replied.

Grissom looked away, automatically searching the room for signs of Brass, but the captain was nowhere to be seen either. Then he saw the two of them, talking animatedly as they hurried out of the room toward the hotel lobby. Something tensed in his chest. He glanced at Greg, then at Sara, deep in conversation, quickly excusing himself in her ear, saying he'd be right back. Sara just carried on talking and smiling, and he moved away. Something he wasn't privy to was going on next door, and as he walked out of the room he couldn't shake his strong sense of foreboding.


	58. Chapter 58

A/N: Okay, so I decided to split this next chapter up when I got to the 5000-word mark. Good news is that it means that instead of two we have three chapters left, including this one, followed by the epilogue. I hope you enjoy, let me know.

* * *

><p>Brass pushed the door, stepping into the men's room with a smile on his face and visions of Grissom and Sara's unabashed kiss. Their little display had certainly turned a few heads, but it was good to see them so happy and carefree at long last; if two people were more deserving of a reprieve it was them. The evening was going swimmingly well, everyone on their best behaviour and seemingly enjoying themselves, and he was even looking forward to parting with a little money.<p>

He gave his head a shake, slowing down when he noticed Matthew standing with his back to him at one of the urinals. As he took his place further along Matthew finished, moving over to the washbasins. Brass took care of business then eased a look over his shoulder, waiting until the water had finished running to speak.

"I wanted to…" Pausing he did himself up, then checked at a glance that the cubicles were empty before moving to the sinks. Matthew was finishing drying his hands. "I wanted to thank you," he said, glancing in Matthew's direction.

Matthew's movement slowed and he turned, catching Brass's eye through the mirror. He looked mildly taken aback. "Thank me?"

Brass gave a firm nod. Glancing down he turned the tap on and, fearing being accused of meddling into affairs that didn't concern him, chose his words carefully. "For what you're doing for Sara," he said, his eyes downward as he washed his hands, "coming tonight, bringing your family with you, it can't have been easy." He turned the tap off, looked up in the mirror and tried a smile. "I haven't seen her, or Grissom, this happy since before the…" He shrugged, the last word remaining unsaid. "I know it means a lot to her that you're all here…and to Laura too."

Matthew's eyes averted and he nodded his head. "I appreciate your candour. But I guess it took what happened to Sara to make me take my life into my own hands and realise what was important."

Brass thought of Ellie, and that maybe he should try to do the same, at least make contact. "I'm glad you could do that. Like I said, I know it's not easy."

Matthew gave another nod. The two men stared at each other through the mirror for a while longer and then Matthew said, "There's...another reason why I decided to come back."

Brass turned, giving Sara's brother his full attention.

"I don't know if you're aware," the younger man went on, "But I'm filing a suit for damages against the Department on Sara's behalf."

Brass gave a grave nod. "I'd heard," he said, keeping his voice neutral.

"I'm meeting with my lawyer tomorrow afternoon, but so far the Department's refusing point blank to settle."

Brass's eyes lowered as he pondered the issue. He moved to dry his hands. "Have you told Grissom?"

Matthew shook his head. "I told Sara, though. She said to drop the suit."

Brass's gaze snapped back up to Matthew with surprise, but before either man could talk the men's room door swung open, laughter briefly drifting in as the mayor came in.

"Jim," the latter said with a nod, headed to a cubicle.

"Mayor," Brass greeted back, with a quick glance at Matthew, gauging for his reaction.

Matthew's brow knitted with a deep frown. His mouth was pinched, the muscles in his jaw twitching as quickly he put two and two together. He took a step toward where the mayor stood with his back to them and Brass caught his arm, stopping him. Now wasn't the time for introductions. Matthew turned and Brass shook his head, his eyes commanding, and with one last glance at the mayor Matthew relented, preceding Brass out of room.

"Let's not do this now," Brass said when they were out of earshot. He paused, nodding his head as Sheriff Burdick walked past.

Matthew stopped, turning back toward the men's room, fists clenching and unclenching by his side. "Maybe if I have a quiet word with him…" he sighed, his word trailing.

"That's not a good idea," Brass said quietly but firmly, then more jovially, "Come on, let's get back. The auction's about to start."

Matthew hesitated. Then he sighed, glanced at Brass and nodded his head. They had just entered the ballroom when Matthew stopped dead in his tracks. "I can't," he said. "I need to speak with him. Make him understand."

Brass threw a worried look toward their table, noticing Grissom standing with Sara and Greg, smiling as he talked to Vanessa and Sarah. When he turned back Matthew had double backed on himself and quickly he followed while heatedly trying to explain to Matthew why cornering the mayor in the men's room wasn't a good idea, that the man was an ex-defence attorney for the Mob, very volatile and famous for it. Matthew strode on, undeterred.

The mayor came out as they approached, talking and smiling to himself, taking a right turn away from them toward the main body of the hotel. Running out of arguments Brass put his hand on Matthew's arm, trying to halt his progress but to no avail, and they finally caught up with the mayor in a small open area with a bar. The place was quiet, with few patrons about, except for Sheriff Burdick waiting, digestifs at the ready on the counter.

Matthew had a brief moment of hesitation. Brass's cell chirped and he pulled it out of his pocket, frowning when he saw the text was from Greg. _Speeches are on. Where is everyone? _"Come on," he said, "let's not spoil this evening for everyone." He waved his cell at him. "They're wondering where we are."

But it was too late. Matthew broke away, headed straight for the mayor. "Isn't what happened to Sara punishment enough?" he said without preamble in a raised voice.

The pair's conversation stopped abruptly, all eyes briefly focusing on Matthew before drifting over to Brass standing slightly back, demanding an explanation. Brass's hands opened out, his shoulders rising in a helpless manner.

"Who is this?" the mayor asked, his voice betraying his utter bafflement, "Jim, would you care to enlighten us?"

Matthew took a breath, and Brass could tell he was working hard at keeping his temper in check. He stepped forward, putting himself in front of Matthew. "Sir, this is Matthew Sidle. Sara's brother."

His eyes flicking toward Sheriff Burdick, the mayor let out a long breath. "Mr Sidle," he said, his tone solemn, "may I pass on to you my regrets at what happened to Sara? It's a tragedy. She was a fine criminalist."

Matthew let out a cold laugh. "That's all you got to say? That she was a fine criminalist?"

"Mr Sidle," the mayor said, and something in his tone told Brass to be wary.

"Now gentlemen," Sheriff Burdick interjected, his tone placating as he lifted an appeasing hand. "Now's not the time for all this."

"I want to know why," Matthew said, and Brass's heart sank. "I want to know why you're refusing to settle."

"Keep your voice down," the mayor said in an urgent whisper, casting a quick glance around the place.

"Matthew, please, leave it to the lawyers," Brass tried again. "Now's not the place, nor the time."

"Sara needs that money for treatment," Matthew said, voice still raised, not giving a damn who heard him, and Brass couldn't help seeing Sara in her brother at that moment, the same often misplaced spirit and doggedness, "She's going to need it if she wants to walk again."

The mayor looked down, then over at Sheriff Burdick who took his cue. "No decision has been made yet," he said vaguely, "The lawyers are still discussing—"

"Yeah, and we all know how long that's going to take." Matthew paused and took a breath. His voice was calmer, quieter when he said, "Sara needs that money now, not in ten years time when they've done all they can to help her. One point five million, that's all we're asking for. A drop in the ocean for people like you."

"That may as well be," the mayor countered heatedly, "but what kind of message would we be sending then, huh? That it's okay for law-enforcement personnel to…to…"

"To do what?" Matthew asked.

The mayor's only reply was to fix Brass with a hard stare.

Brass gave a wan smile and shook his head. "So, this is what it's all about," he said, understanding finally dawning. "You're punishing Sara for my shortcomings."

"Your _shortcomings_?" the mayor repeated with disbelief, his smile acerbic. "Is that what you call this…cover up?" The smile dropped suddenly, replaced by a ruthless snarl, his voice no louder than a gritted whisper as he said, "did you think you'd manage to keep it under wraps? That it wouldn't come back to bite you in the ass? You had PD cut Wallis loose to protect Grissom, for goodness sake, when you had all the evidence you needed to lock him away for good!"

Brass's shoulders squared, and feeling the heat he pulled at his collar. "Perps are always making stuff up so they can get out of whatever charge they've been hauled in for. Wallis was no exception." He turned to the sheriff. "You've been on the receiving end of such claims more times than I care to remember. It was Wallis's word against Grissom's, and I never once believed Wallis's claims were true. Besides which Grissom had an alibi for that time."

"If you were so sure Grissom was innocent," the mayor countered, "then why let Wallis go at all? You had enough to put him away, clear Grissom's name and then go after MacKay."

Brass bristled. "What do you want from me? My badge? Because if you're questioning my ability to do my job, to call it as I see it, then…you can have it."

"Now, Jim," Sheriff Burdick said, wading in softly, "that's not what we're saying, or what we're after. No one's questioning your ability to do your job here. All we're saying is that…"

* * *

><p>Grissom had heard enough. His head hung low with shame, both at what he'd done and at the fact that Brass was left to deal with the consequences. And Sara. It had taken him a few minutes to locate Brass and Matthew but when he did, finding them with the mayor and the sheriff in a heated debate, he'd known to keep his distance. The men's voice had been mere whispers, albeit urgent and fraught, but they had carried to him loud and clear.<p>

"Gil? Everyfingokay?"

He whipped round with a start, stepping out from the shadows, immediately plastering a smile on his face. His heart thudded in his chest, echoing the loud pulsing in his ears. Sara's frown was deep, her eyes moving from his to Brass and her brother through the doorway beyond and back to him questioningly, and he wondered how long she'd been there and how much she'd heard.

"I saw your brother and Jim leave the room together," he said, hoping he sounded more convincing to her than he did to his own ears. He lifted a mild shoulder, "Looked like they were arguing, so I thought I'd come and check it out, you know, in case. They're talking politics so I stayed away." A loud burst of laughter erupted from the ballroom, and briefly he turned toward it. "We should get back," he said with a nod in that direction.

Sara didn't reply. She was staring up at him, her expression solemn and perplexed as she studied him, and he knew he hadn't fooled her one little bit. She reached up with her left hand, taking a hold of his right one and continued on toward a quiet sitting area away from the main hallway, tugging him along in her wake. His game was up and he knew it. Now was the time to be honest and upfront with her, face up to what he had done.

He was breathing hard when, numbed and crestfallen, he pulled his hand out of hers and slumped down in an oversized armchair. He'd made a mess of everything and now Sara, the one person he sought to protect above everything else, would suffer the consequences. He had to tell her now, own up to what he had done before she heard it from a third party. He made himself look up and say the words quickly before he lost his nerve, as he had every other time before that. But the look of dread on her face made him pause. He felt his whole body sag and his eyes fill, and he swallowed. Sitting forward, he reached for her right hand, clasping it tightly between his own two hands.

"Sara, there's something you don't know. Something I haven't told you." He blew out a slow breath. "Something I did…and that I deeply regret. I―"

Her left hand slowly rose to his mouth, covering it. "No." She shook her head softly. "Not here," she said, holding his gaze meaningfully, "Notnow. Later." Her eyes softened as her lips formed that gentle smile of hers which came out of the right side of her mouth and never failed to lift his spirits. He understood then that she already knew. How much, he wasn't sure, but she knew enough.

"I lost you that money, Sara. I'm sorry."

Her hand pushed against his lips, and her head shaking she made a shushing sound. "Youdid what you did to get through yourordeal." She paused and stared at him, and the forgiveness and understanding he saw in her eyes, the selfless and endless amount of love there, rendered him speechless. "Gil, thatmoney's not important. We'll manage wivoutit."

"No, Sara. Can't you see?" His voice was gentle, barely above a whisper. "That money would have paid for the best care, the best treatment and therapies. The best of everything."

"Don'tneed the best ofeveryfing. I'll get thetreatments and therapies Ineed here, in Vegas." Her hand moved to his cheek. "We'llfind a way."

Shame made him turn his face away, his eyes clenching shut, hiding his pain.

"Gil, loveyou," she said, "And you loveme. Whatelse matters?"

Her words gave him pause, and slowly he turned back toward her. They stared at each other for a while, and giving him a small smile she lifted her shoulder, as if to say, "What is done is done. It's in the past. We just need to keep looking to the future."

When he watched her, especially now that her hair was growing back, he couldn't help seeing the old Sara, her determination and spirit, her independence, resilience and fortitude shining through on a daily basis, but he also saw new facets of her character gradually develop. Since her accident she'd grown in confidence on a personal level and with her beliefs, not seeking validation so much. She seemed more at-ease with herself, more content with the woman she was now, which was strange really on account of all the things she couldn't do anymore, both personally and professionally.

Oh, she still had nightmares, doubts and misgivings, small bouts of dread and depression, sudden mood changes when she felt her recovery wasn't happening fast enough, no doubt acerbated by her complex medication, but they were short-lived and only made her more determined to succeed and get better, beat the doctors' odds especially as far as walking again was concerned.

Sara's smile faltered a little and she looked down to her lap, pulling a small gift box out of the gap between her leg and the side of her chair. "Wasgoing to give this toyou later," she said, trembling hands raising the box in his eye line. Their eyes locked, his puzzled, hers expectant. "Happy birthday, Gil," she said, a shaky smile breaking across her face.

He lowered his frown to her open hands and the gift box lying there. "What is it?" he asked, his eyes flicking back to her face.

"Openit and you'llsee," she said, her smile broadening pleasurably.

He reached for the box, turned it over in his hands and looked up. The box was heavy for its size, too heavy for jewellery, and he wondered what it could be hiding.

"Won't blowup in your face, I promise," she said, her lips pinching to stifle her smile.

His mouth twisting to the side he lifted the lid and peered in. The breath caught in his throat, leaving him speechless and transfixed. Gentle fingers reached inside the box, lifting out a glass egg the size of a goose egg with the white flower of a midnight cactus locked inside it. As he stared at it through blurry eyes, the memories flooded him, physically flooded him, his heart swelling as they took him back to that night, almost a year ago to the day, when maybe he'd been at his happiest, at his most fulfilled and content in life.

He'd arranged it so that they'd have the night off together, timing it a week before his birthday so as not to arouse suspicion. They'd packed a picnic and driven out to the desert just over the border into Arizona. The night was warm, the sky clear and perfect for stargazing. They'd laid a blanket, lit a fire and made love under the stars, time standing still for them for a few hours. Afterwards as they lay together Sara had spotted the flower in full bloom at midnight. It had been a magical moment for him, one he would cherish for ever. Sadness filled him as again he felt the familiar stirring deep inside him, a physical ache he could not satisfy and constantly had to push away.

"Nightblooming cereus," she said, drawing him back to the present.

Swallowing he looked up and smiled through his tears. "The queen of the night. Where did you get this?"

"Theinternet," she said quickly, watching him expectantly. "Greg helped. Tsnot much. Imean, itsymbolic. It's a―"

"A memory," he said in a disbelieving gasp. "You remember?"

Her face lit up suddenly, dissolving all trace of uncertainty, and she nodded. "Wasn'tsure at first," she said, her words tumbling out in excitement. "Ifought twas a dream, butwas so vivid, so very real andphysical. Tmade mefeel so much. Twas juso beautiful. So powerful. I―"

Softly he leaned across. Lifting his free hand to her face he kissed her, literally stealing the words out of her mouth. "Thank you," he said, "You don't know how much this means to me."

Her face softened. "Notasmuchas remembering meansto me."

His eyes lowered back to the gift, and he stroked his hand to it, his heart filling with love at what he still had, at what he could still hold in his hands and the promise of things yet to come.

"Come on," she then said, breaking into his thoughts, "Let's go. Wannago home."

His gaze snapped up. "We can't."

"Sure we can."

A smile curling his lip he shook his head. "No. This night is your night. Your family's come all this way…for you. We'll stay."

"They'll understand."

"Sweetheart, no," he said softly. "Tonight's important to you."

"You'remore important."

His face brightened. "What about the auction? Lot twelve?"

She gave him an easy shrug. "My brover's going tobid onit. He wants it forSarah, a keepsake. Letim have it. Plentymore where this one camefrom. You canave your pick. I'll even sign it foryou."

He laughed. "We can't leave," he said, brightly, suddenly remembering what he had planned for the two of them, "Because I got a surprise for you too." He paused suddenly, his head turning toward the sound of more applause. "But it's going to have to wait."

Catherine's voice drifted to them as she introduced the next lot to be auctioned and, picking up the gift box off Sara's lap Grissom slipped his memory back inside and snapped the lid shut. Ignoring Sara's faint protestations that she wanted to know what her surprise was, he slid the box in his jacket pocket, took her hand, then leaned over as he got to his feet to kiss her softly on the lips.

"Come on," he said, a giddy smile pulling at his lips, "let's go have some fun. There's some glass artwork I'm interested in. See how much Sam Braun's prepared to pay to make his little girl happy."


	59. Chapter 59

Catherine was in the midst of introducing lot six when Grissom and Sara returned, the large television screen behind her showing a close-up shot of an abstract art painting, a strange kaleidoscope of colourful geometrical shapes and lines which reminded Grissom of Wassily Kandinsky's work. From her pulpit she looked straight at him, holding his eye as she spoke and he glimpsed a look of relief in her gaze. He smiled at her, and she turned away.

The bidding soon started, rising in steady increments as Catherine responded to a raised hand or a discreet nod of the head. They were weaving their way to their table when Grissom noticed Ecklie sitting nearby, smiling as he listened intently to the elderly lady talking animatedly at his side. Grissom had a word in Sara's ear and pausing she frowned, her eyes following to where he was discreetly indicating.

"Play nice," she said with a knowing twist of her mouth before continuing on to their table.

Grissom watched her move away then walked up to Ecklie, gently patting him on the shoulder in greeting. "Conrad," he said in a pleasant tone when he had the lab director's attention, "Sara mentioned tonight was your idea and…I wanted to thank you."

Ecklie's face registered surprise. "You're welcome," he said, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet, his tone showing appreciation. "Catherine did all the organising, but it's a resounding success, isn't it?" He paused and turned, opening his hand out toward the elderly lady he'd been talking to. "Gil, may I introduce you to my mother? Mother, this is Gil Grissom, from the lab. And Sara's_ fiancé_," he added as an aside.

Ecklie's mother's face lit up with interest at that last titbit of information. His head dipping in greeting, Grissom held out his hand, which she shook weakly. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Ecklie," he said with a bright smile.

"You too, Mr Grissom," she replied. "Are you and Sara enjoying yourselves?"

Ecklie's mother's returning smile was stronger on her right side, her speech a little slow, and he wondered if the older woman had suffered a stroke. "You've met Sara?" he asked, his eyes flicking over to Ecklie's with surprise.

"Oh, yes," Mrs Ecklie replied giddily. "At the Centre. I come in twice a week for speech therapy."

"I didn't know," Grissom said, genuinely stunned.

"No reason why you should," she laughed.

His eyes drifted as Mrs Ecklie spoke on, finding Sara. She looked beautiful, her cheeks a little flushed, her hair a little dishevelled and her expression serious as she listened to Sarah talking. Then a smile crossed her face at something Vanessa interjected, her hand lifting to her neck in that self-conscious way she had, and she touched her hair, pulling at a curl, smoothing it out. She looked up suddenly, her eyes seeking his, her smile widening pleasurably when she noticed him watching. He smiled back, then refocused on Mrs Ecklie who had stopped talking and was looking where he had been gazing, a knowing smile on her lips. Catherine's gavel fell, sounding the end of the sale, and the room erupted in applause.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," he said warmly, suddenly eager to be at Sara's side.

As he walked he swept his eyes over the faces of the crowds for that of the four men he'd left arguing, relief filling him when he saw the mayor sat at his table with Sheriff Burdick, their respective wives and other City Hall dignitaries. Heather sat at that table too, her face turned away as she listened to the man seated next to her, and Grissom couldn't help the half-smile that twisted his lips. Heather looked up, their eyes meeting briefly, her already-present smile broadening on spotting him watching before she turned her attention back to her companion.

Brass was looking relaxed too as he chatted to Sam and Lily a few tables away, but Matthew was nowhere to be seen. When he got to their table Greg was busily talking over the applause, his small audience rapt as he pointed this way and that way and he could see why the women were entranced. Greg had such an easy and genuine way with them, a real gift for storytelling. The younger man stopped talking abruptly, his eyes flicking to Grissom as he pulled a chair over to sit near Sara.

"So what did I miss?" he asked as the clapping subsided.

Sara turned a bright smile on him, but before she could reply Sarah said in an excited voice, "Greg was telling us stories about ancient Vegas."

"_Old_ Vegas," Greg corrected in a chuckle, suddenly looking self-conscious in front of his boss, and Grissom wondered if there would ever come a time when that stopped being so.

His eyes met Greg's and he smiled his gratitude at how special he was making this night for everyone. "Greg's quite the enthusiast," he said, "and very knowledgeable. He ought to put it all in a book."

Greg covered his surprise behind a bright smile. "When would I have the time to catch the bad guys then, huh?" he said with a wink at Sarah who giggled pleasurably.

"Where's Matthew?" Grissom asked, aiming for a casual tone.

The look that passed between Laura and Vanessa spoke volume, and he realised he'd voiced the question on everyone's mind.

"Not back," Sara said, and he gave her a nod and soft smile of understanding.

Everyone's attention was swiftly refocused on Catherine as she began an enthusiastic introduction of the next lot, the Murano glass sculpture she had her eye on. "So, where do you start me?" she said, opening the bidding, just as Brass returned, taking a seat next to Laura. "Two―three hundred dollars? It's well worth it. Someone? Anyone?"

Someone must have given her the nod, because her smile broadened, her head dipping in thanks. After that the bidding climbed steadily to two thousand dollars, then stopped. Catherine thanked her father for his bid with a nod and a radiant smile and was about to lower the gavel, calling the sale, when Grissom raised his hand, as he would when giving a sworn testimony in court.

"Grissom, whatyou doing?" Sara muttered, tugging at his sleeve.

He didn't reply, simply nodded his head at Catherine's enquiring frown, upping the ante. Her eyes brightened with mischief as she understood what he was doing and shaking her head in disbelief she increased the bid before sliding her gaze back to her father's table. Sam must have given her the nod because almost immediately her eyes returned to his. This time he gave her a slight incline of the head, coupled with a pleasurable smile and a furtive look in Sam's direction. The bidding soon climbed to three thousand dollars, far more money that Grissom could afford to spend.

"Isn't that against the rules?" Greg asked in a chuckle.

Sara giggled. "You're wicked."

"Don't laugh too soon," Grissom said, "We might just win this thing, and then where will we be?"

But years of playing poker had taught him how to bluff and he was good at it. The bidding went on fiercely until from the corner of his eye he saw Sam get to his feet. Catherine's father was ready to call it, and Grissom knew it was time to fold.

"Ten thousand dollars," Catherine's father exclaimed in a booming voice.

There was a common gasp, then silence as all eyes turned toward Grissom expectantly. His lips were twitching with amusement, and when Catherine caught his eye he gave her a small wink, then turned his face toward Sam, dipping his head, indicating his withdrawal from the bidding. The grin Sam turned on his daughter was wide and very satisfied. Lily was positively beaming by his side.

"Who is this man?" Vanessa asked in a loud, excited whisper.

"Sam Braun," Greg said, "hotel and casino mogul, and also our dear hostess's—"

Catherine brought down her hammer hard, cutting short his reply. "Sold," she exclaimed, her grin giddy with excitement, "To my dear father. Thank you, Sam." She paused and stared at her parents with fondness. "And thank you," she added, her tone and expression sobering, "For all your help and contacts with organising tonight. We couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome, Mugs," Sam said, his eyes crinkling with affection.

"It's all good publicity," Greg said dryly.

"Youfink counts as a tax-deductible contribution?" Sara piped up, stumbling on the last word.

Grissom looked over at her. "I'm sure he'll try," he said, laughing.

The next few lots went by quickly, all selling and fetching good money if nowhere near as much as what Sam had just paid to indulge Catherine. Soon lot twelve was up, a close-up of the black and white photograph Sara had taken filling the big screen behind Catherine. Grissom's chest filled with pride, his hand moving over to Sara's, clasping it tightly.

Matthew chose this moment to join the group, whisky in hand. He shared a brief look and nod with Brass and without acknowledging Grissom took a seat between his daughter and his wife. Grissom searched his profile face and demeanour for obvious signs of drunkenness but saw none. As she concluded her introduction Catherine opened her hand toward Sara and as heads turned toward their table he refocused his attention on Sara too. Despite the slightly overwhelmed look on her face she wore a bright and very pleased smile.

"I'm very privileged to know Sara personally," Catherine went on, the affection she felt for Sara evident in her tone, and Grissom turned back to her, "and proud to consider her a very dear friend." Pausing she held Sara's eyes. Her bright smile wavered and she blinked. "But look at me," she added in a tearful chuckle, her gaze shifting to encompass the whole room, "I'm getting all emotional."

Grissom's gaze flicked back to Sara, and on noticing the happy shine in her eyes he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Okay, so without further ado let's begin," Catherine exclaimed. "For this item, we have an absentee bidder, so I'll open the sale on her behalf at five hundred dollars."

Sara gave a gasp of surprise, her eyes snapping to Grissom in amazement.

"Sofia Curtis," he told her quietly, then turning toward Catherine he nodded his head, raising the bid another fifty dollars.

Catherine increased the bid on Sofia's behalf, then Brass did, and Matthew, and then good-humouredly back and forth between the four of them until they reached one thousand dollars. Having set his limit at two thousand dollars, he was seeking Catherine's eyes to up the bidding another notch when a man's familiar voice boomed, "Two thousand dollars."

"Good lord," Grissom muttered under his breath, glancing at Sara out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were out on stalks. Slowly he swivelled his head round toward Sam Braun, the origin of the voice.

"Well, that's me out," Catherine said, with a disbelieving chuckle.

Grissom's eyes scanned the expectant faces of the people around him before coming to a rest on Sara's. She was watching him, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes daring him to go on. He sighed and slowly gave Catherine the nod.

"Three thousand dollars," Sam called, and someone in the crowd gave a whoop of delight.

"You think he's bluffing?" Brass asked looking very amused at the situation.

"Of course he's bluffing," Grissom gritted back. "He's giving me a dose of my own medicine."

"That'swhat you get when youplay with big boys," Sara said, stifling her smile.

"_Bluff_ with the big boys," Greg amended, winking at Sara.

Grissom gave them a look that said, "You're not helping," and Sara giggled. Catherine's eyes were on him and he gave her a dejected shrug of his shoulder, unsure of where to go from there. Sam would easily be able to match and raise every one of his bids, and sadly he didn't have endless means unlike his opponent. Three thousand dollars was a lot of money, money they badly needed and he could hardly afford to spend on a photograph, however badly he wanted it.

"Let himave it," Sara told him, reading his mind.

"He doesn't want it," Grissom said.

"But we do," Sarah said in a small voice, echoing his thoughts out loud.

"Gil, thisis silly," Sara said. "We can'tafford that kindamoney."

Grissom sighed, his eyes averting to Sara, and he nodded. The happiness in her face had made way to concern, and he lifted his hand off the table, sliding it over to hers hanging off the edge of the chair's armrest. "I know."

"Besides there's plentymore where thisphoto came from," she said, a little more brightly.

"Gil?" Catherine asked a little hesitantly, "Any advance on three thousand dollars?"

Grissom's eyes lifted to Catherine, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Sofia's got a grand on the table," Brass said, and Grissom refocused. "I know, she told me." His shoulder rose. "I can match it."

"I don't think Sofia expected to win that bid," Grissom said.

"I think Jim's right," Laura said. "What if we pool all of our money together? I got five hundred."

"I got five hundred too," Greg said in a hopeful tone.

"It still wouldn't be enough," Grissom said. "All this is only beer money to the likes of Sam Braun."

"It's worth a try," Vanessa said with a look at Matthew, who had been very quiet during all this.

Matthew looked at his daughter whose face shone with interest and then flicked his eyes back to Vanessa. "Okay," he said, then leaned across to his daughter and had a quiet word to her ear.

By the time Matthew had finished speaking Sarah's eyes were wide with excitement. "You sure?" she asked him, and smiling Matthew gave her a nod. She blew a breath, had a glance to her mother, and then stood up straight before turning toward Sam's table and smoothing down the front of her dress. Looking up and holding his gaze she said, "five thousand dollars."

There was another collective gasp, and then clapping coming from one corner of the room that quickly spread. Lily's hands flew to her mouth in exhilaration. Sam shook his head in disbelief or maybe, Grissom figured, in amusement, or both, and before Sam could raise his bid Lily leaned over to speak to him. Sam paused, then looked over at Lily with a sigh before grudgingly nodding his head. Catching Catherine's eye he shook his head, folding his hand.

"Five thousand dollars," Catherine called over the clapping which petered out almost instantly. "Going once. Going twice…" She lifted her auctioneer's gavel with a brief sweep of her eyes over the crowd before slamming it down with far too much enthusiasm. "Sold to…"

"Sarah," Sarah said proudly, cutting Catherine's words short, "Sarah Sidle."

"She reminds me so much of Sara, it's uncanny," Laura said to no one in particular, and as Grissom joined in the renewed applause he couldn't agree more.

Sarah was glowing and grinning broadly when she sat back down, shiny eyes immediately seeking that of her aunt. Grissom offered to go Dutch with Matthew, but Matthew shook his head, refusing point blank.

"This one's on me," he said, smiling at his daughter who almost jumping with excitement reached across to embrace him tightly. "You understand that if you hadn't bid," Matthew said afterwards, his tone of voice mild as he addressed Grissom, "you would have saved us a small fortune."

"He can afford it," Vanessa said, talking about Matthew, before Grissom could reply, "and it's a long-term investment. When Sara is famous who knows how much more the picture'll be worth."

"Oh, don't know boutdat," Sara said, embarrassed at all the attention, but her smile betrayed her pleasure at the compliment.

The rest of the auction went by in a blur, everyone too buoyed up and excited by what had just happened and discussing Sara's photograph that was being passed round the table to take in much of what else went on, and soon Catherine was bringing her hammer down for the last time to more rapturous applause.

As people began to call it a night, standing and slowly moving toward the exits, Vanessa gave Matthew a nod, and taking his cue he pushed his chair back. "We ought to be making tracks too," he said, getting to his feet. "It's way past Sarah's bedtime."

Sarah began to protest, but Vanessa stood up too then said, "He's right, honey. Besides, you want to be able to make the most of tomorrow, don't you?"

"Still up for brunch?" Matthew asked, in a look that took in both Grissom and Sara.

Sara's eyes met Grissom's, a question in them, and smiling he nodded his head. "We look forward to it," he said, extending his right hand across to the table which after a slight hesitation Matthew shook. "Thank you for making tonight so memorable for Sara."

"And me," Laura added quietly.

Matthew's eyes lowered to his mother and he gave her a nod. "I hope you can make brunch too," he said, "And you Mr Brass."

Laura registered a look of surprise. Her eyes seemed to fill and blinking she averted them down to the table. Pushing to her feet she looked up, then covered the distance to her son and daughter-in-law. There she stopped, and Vanessa leaned over with a smile for a warm hug. Then Laura and Sarah hugged, and when it came to Matthew's turn Laura had a moment of hesitation. Taking a small step toward her son she wrapped him in a clumsy embrace. Matthew stiffened at the effusive display, but after a few seconds he seemed to relax, his right hand awkwardly lifting to his mother's shoulder.

Grissom turned to watch Sara whose whole face shone with happiness. She looked over at him, her expression changing, darkening slightly before seemingly relaxing again. Grissom frowned. He was about to ask her if everything was all right when he felt a firm hand clamp on his shoulder and the chatter around them stopped. He looked up and round with surprise, his smile dropping on noticing who had him pinned to his seat.

"Sara, you're looking lovely," Sam said. Then refocusing his gaze on Grissom he loosened his grip on the CSI's shoulder and patted it cordially. "No hard feelings," he said, reaching over for a handshake.

Grissom shook his head then laughed and shook the proffered hand warmly. "Thank you for tonight, Sam. It's the first black-tie do I attend that I've actually enjoyed."

"What a rush!" Catherine exclaimed, joining them at that moment, diverting everyone's attention on her. She looked flushed, but exhilarated. She picked up the half-full flute in front of Grissom, raised it at all of them then downed it without ceremony. "Greg's driving," she told Grissom when he raised his brow.

"You got her working tonight?" Lily asked with surprise.

Sam burst out in a disbelieving chuckle and patted Grissom's shoulder again. "Good man."

Catherine pulled a good-humoured face at her father. "Oh, and before I forget, happy birthday, Gil," she said, leaning across to buss him on the cheek.

Pulling back she gave him a lengthy look, one that said, "Does Sara know about your little…surprise?" and when feeling Sara's puzzled stare on them he shook his head in reply, Catherine flicked her gaze to Sara.

"Enjoy the rest of your night," she said.

A smile playing round the edge of his mouth Grissom looked over at Sara. Her forehead was wrinkled into a deep frown. "Oh, we will," he said, his voice deep and solemn and full of promise.


	60. Chapter 60

A/N: Maybe the rating should have gone up with this chapter, I'm not sure. Also, remember that I wrote _A Crime Too Far_ in 2010 before _The Two Mrs Grissoms_ aired and that at that time I believed Betty Grissom was dead.

Big breath…here goes; on _my_ birthday, the final chapter. I hope you enjoy.

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><p>"I can't believe you did this," Sara exclaimed, her eyes and grin wide with excitement as she preceded him into the room. It was a larger than usual hotel room, very spacious and nicely decorated with soft hues and elegant furnishings, and she knew that he hadn't spared any expense. With one swift move she swivelled the chair round toward him and watched as he quietly closed the door. Catching his eye when he turned, she let out a happy giggle. "I don't think I've ever stayed in a place like this! It's almost like this fairy tale evening can never end."<p>

Laughing he moved past her to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. "Well, strictly speaking it's already morning."

"Nobody likes a smartass," she said in a chuckle.

His brow rose, and he made a pout. A half-smile curling his lip he gave her a wink, then bent down to unlace his shoes. "I'm glad you enjoyed tonight," he said, his eyes flicking up, "I did too. It was fun meeting everyone without all the worry and aggravation of before."

Briefly Sara wondered if he would bring up what had happened before the auction, but he didn't, and her expression turning thoughtful she gave him a nod of agreement. "It was such a surprise Matthew bringing Vanessa and Sarah with him like that."

"You didn't know?"

She shook her head. "I'd mentioned the event to him on the phone, and I knew _he_ was coming, but I didn't think…" she let her words drift with a shrug, then her smile returned and with it another giggle. "Vanessa could hardly take her eyes off you. You looked real…handsome tonight."

He looked up with surprise, his eyes soft with love. "I think that was my line, but thank you."

He toed off his shoes then stood up to take off his dinner jacket which, after patting the pockets and taking out his gift, he neatly hung on the back of a chair. Sara was glad her vivid dream had been a recollection rather than a simple fantasy, and it was worth having to keep it a secret for so long just to see the look of astonishment on his face, wide-eyed disbelief that had made way to joy as he pulled out the glass egg and saw the recollections in her eyes. That night in the desert had seemingly been as magical and arresting to him as it had to her.

"That night in the desert was magical, Sara," he said, voicing the thoughts in her head, his eyes on the egg he was stroking his fingertips to. His voice was low, a little raspy, and he swallowed. "It was a turning point for me. That's when I realised I could never go back to how things were before between us, that if I had to choose between you and the job I'd…" Slowly he looked up and gave her a shy smile, "I'd pick you. That's when I…"

"…told me you loved me," she said, her voice quiet, introspective, and he nodded.

"I hadn't planned to," he said, his eyes briefly averting, and she had to really concentrate to hear his softly spoken words. "But…I just felt so much that night. So much."

"Me too," she said in a breathless whisper.

He glanced up, laughing in disbelief. "That's what you said then too." Covering the distance to her he leaned down for a kiss, and closing her eyes as their lips touched she raised her hand to his bearded face, holding him to her. His stomach made a loud, rumbling sound and chuckling they parted.

Sara took a moment to cast an appreciative eye around, her throat constricting as she realised he'd booked a handicap accessible room. The wall light switches were at wheelchair height, as was all the furniture which was neatly arranged to allow easy manoeuvring around. The bed was a little higher than normal to facilitate self-transfer from a wheelchair and one of the chairs was missing from under the table. A small metallic push pad was tucked away by the door to open it, and she was sure that if she checked the bathroom would be adapted and fully kitted out with handrails and a roll-in shower. Yet again her breath was taken away at his forethought and solicitude.

"You hungry?" he asked, startling her, "Because I'm starving."

Rotating the chair round so she faced him, she gave him a wan smile then glanced at the bowl of fresh strawberries he was holding and shook her head. What else had he planned for their special night, she wondered? She felt nervous suddenly, too nervous to eat, her stomach twisted in a tight knot at what might, or not, happen next between them. That first morning home had given her a taste of how wonderful it would be to be made love to again, his hands and caresses had shown so much tenderness and promise, had made her feel like she had never felt before, awakening a hunger, a yearning deep inside her she knew only he could satisfy.

"Mind if I do?" he went on, unaware of the thoughts in her head, as without ceremony he picked a strawberry and popped it into his mouth. Then he met her eyes and smiled, adding a little sheepishly as he chewed, "I haven't had anything to eat since lunchtime." He held out the bowl to her and she shook her head a second time. "A drink, maybe? I got alcohol-free champagne chilling in the fridge."

Sara gave a small nervous laugh. "Later maybe," she said, too shocked to even make a joke of it, and moved around the bed to the bedside table on the far side. There she stared at the three remote controls neatly placed alongside one another, one labelled 'air conditioning', the second, 'curtains' and picked up the third labelled 'lights'. She pressed the button to turn the ceiling lights off, leaving only the dimmer wall lights on.

"You tired?" he asked, his voice gentle, "Ready for bed?"

A slow smile spreading she put the controller down, then met his gaze. "I'm not tired," she said, her smile twitching, "But I'm ready for bed."

One eyebrow rose and he pursed his lips. "And you're sure I can't tempt you with a strawberry first?" he asked, moving round to her side of the bed. He took his time choosing a strawberry, then bit into it and looked up at her, his lips wet with juice, while he offered her the other half.

Did he even know what effect seeing him do this had on her? Did he have any idea how sexy and youthful and sensual and beautiful he looked at that very moment? How she felt like the luckiest girl in the world just to have such a devoted man by her side? How if she could just get up and walk she'd be sucking the juice off his lips and ripping the rest of his tux off his body? And as he stood there munching and watching her she could only stare at his mouth, awestruck and dumbstruck and very much aroused.

His expression changed suddenly, darkening, mirroring her yearning. His eyes, intent and searching, locked with hers. Slowly, he finished chewing then swallowed, hard, reaching past her to set the bowl down on the bedside table. Slower still, he bent down toward her, she thought for another kiss, but instead he wedged his right hand under her left thigh, lifting her leg up off the footrest, which he then folded back on itself, before reverently lowering her bare foot to the floor, making sure the sole lay perfectly flat against the plush carpet.

Each one of his moves was calm and measured unlike the wild pounding of her heart as he repeated the procedure with her right leg. He looked up and smiled, then eased his hands and forearms under her armpits, wrapping his hands behind her, helping her up from the chair onto her feet. He didn't kiss her. Supporting her weight he helped her rotate a quarter of a turn so she stood with her back to the bed. She felt him tense as he braced himself, waiting for her to drop down into a sitting position onto the edge of the bed a manoeuvre they'd been perfecting ever since that first trip home but she didn't.

She just stood and stared at him, neither of them moving as they faced each other. He frowned slightly. Her eyes dipped to his throat and chest then slowly climbed back up to his face. Her right hand lifted and she stroked her fingertips to his lips, red lips still tacky with strawberry juice, lips that parted in a gasp as his breathing hitched a notch. Her legs felt strong and steady, as though she could stand on them forever. There was no pain or pins and needles. For the first time in forever they stood eye to eye for longer than a few seconds. He swallowed. Her mouth went dry as she read the longing and desire in his eyes, and she felt her stomach harden, a twitching inside of her, something deep and old, familiar, that made her dizzy with excitement for him.

His head cocking to the side he took a moment to watch her, truly watch her, and she couldn't help wondering what it was he was seeing when he looked deep inside her like that. Tightening the hold he had around her with his left hand he shifted her weight and then slipped his right arm out from under her armpit, moving that hand to her face, brushing a little hair away from her eyes before tracing the outline of her cheek. Her eyes shut as she sucked in a sharp breath, his touch almost too much. She felt him slip her glasses off, and then felt the heat of his gaze as it caressed her face. They stood so close she could hear each one of his breaths, feel its warmth on her face and smell its strawberry scent, but still, he didn't kiss her.

She smiled then, knowing he was teasing, playing a game. Her eyes reopened, sliding from his face to his bow tie, crooked now, and she tugged at one end with her right hand, pulling the knot free. Her left hand came up to help with the shirt buttons, but she couldn't manage them. She felt her lips tremble, her eyes closing at the pain, at the fact that she still couldn't manage such a simple task despite all her hard work. His hand moved over hers at his collar, stilling them. She reopened her eyes, and together they undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. Her hands left his, slipping underneath the shirt, his skin warm under her touch as her fingers threaded through the soft hairs on his chest.

As he pulled the shirt tails out of his pants he looked over at her and she didn't see fear and misgiving in his gaze as she feared, but love and desire. Today, she thought, on his birthday, they would make love and be one again, and it would be as magical as that night in the desert had been. Her hand moved to the spot just over his heart and she watched his face while feeling every beat. It was fast, uncharacteristically so, matching her own in her ears.

"My beating heart," she said, mouthing the words almost inaudibly.

His mouth came crashing onto hers with such force, such hunger and intensity that she teetered on her feet. His right arm wrapped around her, keeping her up as he almost lifted her off the ground in his enthusiasm. She heard a moan and a groan escape their joined lips, but she couldn't say whose they were. Her legs were failing her now, but still she stood upright. Out of nowhere he got a hold over himself slowing the kiss right down and Sara felt herself melt into his arms at the onslaught of sensations that coursed through her.

Her hand trailed down his chest and stomach to the cummerbund, pushing it up as her fingers clumsily tugged at his pants fastening. It came undone surprisingly easily, the inner button following suit as she slid her hand in the opening, his groan that filled her mouth, deep and primal. She felt bold, empowered by his reaction, his certainty. He left her mouth, finding her throat, her shoulders, her face and mouth again, her fingers feeling, touching, stroking everywhere they could, yet it felt unhurried to her, almost in slow motion.

He stopped and breathing hard pulled back from her, easing her hand out of his pants. Their eyes met, and he smiled, shaking his head. Reaching back with one hand he tugged at the zipper of her dress, blindly pulling it down all the way to her lower back. His eyes were hooded with desire as he lowered the dress over her shoulders, left then right, letting it cascade down to her feet. She heard his sharp intake of breath, saw the widening of his pupils as he took in the sight of her in her lace panties and matching bra. Black, his favourite, a gift from him she'd instinctively known as soon as Laura had gingerly produced them out of the suitcase of stuff she'd brought her from home.

And as his eyes and hands lingered on her body, she felt the heat in her neck and breasts, and she shivered, goose bumps covering her skin. They stood so very close. Her chest was heaving, her nipples hard, chafing against the gossamer material of her bra, demanding to be freed. Her legs gave way suddenly, and she leaned back in time, falling on the bed in an ungainly manner, dragging him on top of her. They shared a smile and a chuckle, his eyes once again darkening as he eased his arms out from under her, stroking fingertips to the curve of her breasts. His breathing was ragged as he pushed up to his feet, all the while staring at her with amazement.

Slowly he undid the cuffs on his shirt, discarding the cufflinks and it to the floor, the rest of his clothes soon following suit. Watching, Sara threw her arms back over her head, her back arching toward him invitingly, and standing tall and proud before her he reached out his hands to her waist and slid her panties all the way down her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Her body was trembling with anticipation.

The tip of his tongue darted out, licking his bottom lip, as gently he nudged her legs apart, coming down on his knees between them. Sara tried to sit up, but couldn't. His hands holding her waist, he buried his face in her stomach and held her to him motionlessly for what felt like a very long time. Her hands lifted to the back of his head, stroking through his hair, gently tugging him up so they could kiss, but he resisted her pull, keeping his head firmly pressed to her stomach. Was he having second thoughts, she wondered? Was it the moment when it all stopped?

That was when she felt it; his warm breaths first, then the sinuous trail of his lips on her stomach, around her navel, the small scarring on the left side, soft and slow, ticklish as his lips teased and tasted, his fingers following the path of his mouth, and then down, reawakening every single nerve ending in her body. Sara laid back with a moan, her arms stretching by her side as she let the desire wash over her. Before long she was writhing under him, writhing and crying out, her eyes screwing shut at the waves of pleasure that built up and up so quickly inside her she thought she would burst.

When it was over and she reopened her eyes they were brimming with tears. Craning her neck she looked down at him and, when she found him gazing up at her with adoration, pleaded with her eyes for him not to stop there but to allow himself the release too, inside her so they made one again. He took in a fraught breath and swallowed, then smiled, nodding his head at her.

His hands slid up to her chest and around to her back, unclasping her bra, letting it ride up above her breasts, while he stood up. He let his eyes travel over her body, then his hands and lips, soft and strong as they caressed and teased all over while all she could do was throw her head back, granting him better access while her hands stroked along his back, across the wide span of his shoulders and down to his ass. At one point he looked up to her face, checking with his eyes, needlessly seeking permission to proceed.

And then standing, he was holding himself above her, his arm muscles hard from the exertion. She grabbed him by the forearms and gazed up at him, seeing his face clearly, every emotion in his eyes, and as he began to move inside her she fought the urge to close her eyes at the rush of desire. He kept his open, intent on hers throughout, their eyes speaking words they didn't need to say out loud.

He was so tender, so gentle with her despite the awkwardness of their position, despite her lack of coordination and movement, and seeing the intense pleasure reflected in his features she couldn't feel more loved and revered. His eyes filled, then closed suddenly and soon afterwards she felt his release, his arms failing as he shuddered and fell on top of her, still quivering inside her. His shoulders began to shake, and she wrapped her arms around them, holding him to her, sharing in his emotion.

When spent he rose up it was with a shine in his eyes and a look of astonishment about his face. He rolled off her onto his side and stared at her with awe and wonder, her, a shadow of her former self. With one look, one smile, one touch he had the power to make her feel beautiful, to make her forget, and she understood that then or now would never matter to him, there was no difference between the Sara of the past and the one he was faced with on a daily basis. He just loved _her_. Sara. Sara Sidle.

"I want us to go on a trip," he said quietly in the wee hours as they lay under the bed sheet in each other's arms, after they'd done all the things he'd planned for them share the strawberries, the alcohol-free champagne and a shower and discussed where to take Matthew and his family for the afternoon.

Sara's face turned on his chest toward his. "A trip?"

His eyes were on the ceiling and he nodded. "I want to take you back to Marina Del Rey, to see my mother."

Weakly she pushed up on her elbow to see him better. "You mother?" she said in a gasp.

He flicked his gaze to her and nodded, then gave her a small smile. "She passed away last year."

Sara's eyes lost their focus. Her voice mirrored her chagrin at the news. "She did?"

His smile widened, but Sara couldn't help seeing its underlying sadness. "You came with me to the funeral."

She sighed. Her eyes became distant, then sad at the fact that yet another memory eluded her, and she lay back down. And then she saw them, a flashing image of the two of them walking hand in hand along a very long beach to the sound of crashing waves. It was a clear, sunny day. Her hair was in her face, her shoes in her hand. She wore her navy court dress while he wore his black suit, the tie loosened, the jacket flung over his shoulder and the sleeves rolled-up to his elbows.

"She had a house by the sea," she said in a murmur a smile suddenly breaking across her face. Her eyes reopened, her smile widening pleasurably as she lifted her face to him, "I can feel the sea breeze on my face, taste its saltiness." Amazed, she let the recollections flood her. "Your hair was too long."

He laughed. "You remember_ that_?"

Her nod was soft, if still a little uncertain as she once again cradled against him with her face nestled in the crook of his shoulder and her arm draped over his stomach. She was glad she had been there for him, even if she couldn't remember all of it. His arm wrapped a little tighter around her shoulder and he pressed a kiss to her hair before telling her all about his mother and father and the big house that had stood empty for too long.

"We could go back for my birthday," she said when he had finished.

He laughed again, a low rumble that came from deep within and warmed her to her core. "That might be pushing it a bit." He paused, falling silent for a while. "Maybe we could try to go for Thanksgiving. That gives us a little more time to…" His words trailed off, but something in his tone had set alarm bells ringing.

"More time to do what?" she asked a little uncertainly, shifting so she could watch his face.

He sighed and met her gaze. Then he shrugged as though what he was about to say was no bid deal. "I'm going to need an operation," he said with a soft smile. "It's scheduled for the end of September. I got the letter telling me about it a few days ago."

"An operation?"

"On my legs, to fix the worst of the scarring. It's…nothing to worry about," he added, reaching up to brush his hand to her face, "but I've been putting it off long enough. I was going to tell you after today." He paused and bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I was thinking. We could ask your mother to come along on the trip with us, and Clara and her family. You remember me telling you about Clara, don't you? She's been having a rough time of it lately, what with all the rehab after her heart transplant. I thought that'd be a nice break for her, for all of us."

Sara nodded then resettling her head in the crook of his shoulder lapsed into silence. She let her eyes drift closed and her mind wander back to the story of how he and Clara had met on the cardiac ward in Reno's St Mary's hospital where for just one night, a mere few hours, the sick girl had been a great source of comfort to him, earning herself a special place in his heart. She felt herself doze off, and startling she forced her eyelids open, fighting off sleep, not wanting their night to end just yet.

She smiled to herself. "Hank will love it there," she said, remembering their afternoon trip to Lake Mead a few weeks previously.

Grissom mumbled an unintelligible reply. Shifting under her, he brushed his lips to the top of her head and relaxed the grip he had around her shoulder, easing her weight more to the side, and she knew he was drifting off to sleep. His heartbeat under her was slow and steady, his breathing too, both lulling her to dreams, and she thought that in his arms was where she was meant to be and that as long as they had each other they would overcome whatever else life threw at them. It was with a soft smile on her lips that she finally let herself succumb, a smile that she knew would remain until she awoke, keeping the nightmares well away.

"Sleep tight, my beating heart," she heard him say in a low whisper, his words dreamlike to her, always so dreamlike, going back to a time when the doctors had believed she would never wake.

She had proved them wrong then, and would do it again. There was still a lot she didn't know about what had happened to her, about the attack and its aftermath, but she had worked out enough to know she would never ask and push the issue with him, that his scars were deep and not just confined to his body. One day he would be ready to tell her and she would wait until then. All she needed to know was that he cherished his second chance at a life with her above everything else, just as she did hers with him.

"Sleep tight."

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><p>The End.<p>

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><p>AN: This amazing journey into Sara's recovery and hers and Grissom's rediscovery of each other has finally come to an end. I hope you've enjoyed the story and its ending, and found it a fitting sequel to _A Crime Too Far_. Thank you for all the encouragement, the wonderful reviews and comments and putting the story in your favourite list, and for just for making this journey with me. I could never have done it without you.

There will be an epilogue, because there is still one big loose end to tie up, and it will pick up the story some months after the epilogue for _A Crime Too Far_. In case you're interested and haven't read the original story, that epilogue takes place during the Thanksgiving trip to Marina Del Rey Grissom is talking about in this final chapter and ties up a few loose ends of its own. It kind of bridges the gap in time.

And finally, please, leave a review; I would love to hear from all of you out there who have taken the time to read the story over the last year and a bit. Also, if you feel I have left an aspect of the story unresolved that you'd like me to revisit in the epilogue, let me know and I'll see if it fits in with what I have planned.

Thank you so very much.


	61. Epilogue

A/N: This epilogue is a short story in itself and I hope you don't think it drags despite its length. I did a four-chapter epilogue once, but I couldn't split this scene up. Maybe reading 10000 words plus at work is a little risky, and should be kept for when you're home or on the bus or train or wherever, but NOT at work, unless you're on a break and then I'd be humbled that you would choose to read this during your break.

I want to issue a hanky warning for the beginning, the ending is definitely happy, but I'm not sure as it's been a while, so…maybe.

The passage Greg reads is from the Bible: Corinthians, 13; 4. New International Version from 1984.

I know I took some – a lot of – liberties with the whole Catholic wedding scene here since the protocol for these things is still pretty strict, for one Grissom and Sara wouldn't have been allowed to digress from the script and say their own vows and then there would have to be a mass and communion and the whole shebang, but hey...that's how I wanted it. I hope no one will find it offensive.

Wow, I can't believe this is it.

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><p>Epilogue.<p>

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><p>"Worried she's a no-show?"<p>

Pursing his mouth at the blatant teasing, Grissom peeled his eyes off the open church doors and gave his best man a long sideways look.

"Relax," Brass said in a chuckle, "if it's any consolation Nancy was twenty minutes late to our wedding."

Grissom couldn't help his scoff of disbelief. "You're not helping."

Brass's tone changed, amusement making way to genuine concern. "Want me to call Laura? See what the holdup is?"

Grissom gave the suggestion serious consideration, but glancing at Brass shook his head. His eyes returned to the church doors just as Maddy rushed in, hand clasped over her hat and with John in tow. He smiled. Her face lit up on seeing him and she raised her hand in a friendly wave, mouthing a silent, "Sorry, we're late."

His smile broadened in reply and he watched as Nick and Matthew greeted them then gave them an Order of Service each before ushering them to some free seats half-way down the aisle on the groom's side along from Clara and her family. He scanned bright eyes over the fifty or so guests gathered in St Christopher's Church, nodding his head a little stiffly as several of them caught his eye before bringing his gaze back to the main doors, patiently waiting for Sara and the bridal party to arrive.

Getting married in church – in this particular church a stone's throw away from Desert Breeze Park and on this particular day exactly a year to the day of the attack – had been Sara's idea, an idea which had struck him as odd at first but which now made perfect sense. It would help bring them closure, she'd insisted, and he realised now that she'd been right. St Christopher's had been a haven to them ever since that first time they'd sought refuge there from the pouring rain and he'd finally found the strength to open up to her. And today on their wedding day, surrounded by all their friends and family as well as a few chosen members of staff from Torrey Pines Sara had grown close to over the months, Dr Williamson and his wife of course, but also Paula, Marcy and Monique, they would finally turn the page on the past year and celebrate their love and the start of their new life together, as husband and wife.

A week or so after returning from their trip to Marina Del Rey they'd been watching the local news when the sports section came on and with it a report on the UNVL baseball team. Grissom immediately reached for the remote, switching channels. His heart was pounding in his chest, and as he fought to keep his breathing slow and controlled he eased a look toward Sara sitting next to him on the couch. She was watching him, concern etched on her face, a tentative smile on her lips.

Ever since his chat with Clara during the trip he'd known she remembered maybe not the attack itself but certainly the afternoon leading up to it. Why else would she suggest to Clara a new Cubs jersey as a gift if she didn't remember? It was hard though, facing up to his fears, to his guilt, to images and feelings he'd tried to keep buried deep within him for so long, and so far he hadn't been able to do it and broach the topic with her.

He took a deep breath and shifted on the couch until he faced her. Then he smiled and reached his hand to her face, gently brushing it against her cheek, searching her face for words that still wouldn't come. His eyes averting uneasily he took both her hands in his, staring at them for courage for the longest of time before forcing his gaze back up. He had to be strong and brave and do it now before he lost his nerve again.

Sara just sat there, staring back at him, her eyes soft and already forgiving as she waited for him to speak. When the words still wouldn't come, he felt tears rise and prick the back of his eyes and he sucked in a fraught breath through pinched lips, pulling her to him in a tight embrace.

"It's all right," she said in a whisper into his neck as his tears began to fall, "You don't have to tell me."

Pulling back he swallowed and wiped his eyes. "No, it's time you knew," he choked out, and cleared his throat. "It's time you knew everything and not just what you've remembered." He tried a smile. "I just…I'm not sure I'll have the words, or be strong enough."

"You will."

Her left hand lifting to his face she gave him a nod and a soft smile, and that was all the trust and encouragement he needed. He took in a breath and drew back from her, looking around their lounge, taking his mind's eye back to that day.

"I was here," he said in a low voice, "on this very spot when it happened." His face lit up unexpectedly and he met her gaze. "I remember we'd only just bought the couch." Just as quickly as it had appeared his smile vanished, his eyes casting down. "I was watching a…ball game." His voice broke, his vision blurring, and he paused. Covering his eyes with his hand he blew out a slow breath and swallowed back his pain, making himself continue and force out a truth that had been eating away at him for too long.

"We were both off. It was a beautiful afternoon and you went for a run to the park, took Hank with you as you often did." He looked up briefly to her eyes, but staring at the love and compassion in them was too hard and he averted his gaze back down shamefully. "You asked me to come with you but…" He trailed off, the words, mere choked-out whispers, getting stuck in his throat, "But I said no." He glanced up, eyes full of tears holding her gaze meaningfully. "I said no, Sara. If I'd just―"

He screwed up his face and eyes at the still raw pain, the weight of his guilt too much to carry. Her hands lifted, taking hold of him by the shoulders, drawing him to her. He didn't resist, letting himself be held in her arms while he cried.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, running a soothing hand over his back while she held him to her, "It wasn't your fault." After a moment she gently pushed him away, dipping her head until their eyes met through a film of tears. Her smile trembled as she lovingly stroked her hand to his cheek. His lips were a thin line, his distress barely contained. "I don't blame you for what happened."

"I blame myself."

"It wasn't your fault."

He gave a vigorous shake of the head, not accepting her words. "If I'd come with you… If I'd been there…"

She made a soft shushing sound. Her hand lifted to his face again, framing it and she leaned into him until their foreheads touched. "You couldn't have known."

He pulled away from her suddenly. "I let this damn game be more important than you, Sara, and I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for," she said, holding his gaze and reaching up to dry his tears, but he twisted his face away. "Not as far as any of this is concerned. You couldn't know what would happen. You couldn't be with me every second of every day."

"I wasn't there for you when you needed me most."

Her face lit up with a loving smile. "You're here for me now."

Her words gave him pause, and staring at her with admiration at her fortitude and power of forgiveness he mustered a smile and nodded his head. "Always."

Her expression changed suddenly, her eyes brightening as her lips twitched with a growing smile.

"What is it?" he asked a frown of puzzlement forming at the shift.

Her shoulder lifted and she shook her head, mumbling a shy "Nothing," but the glint in her eyes betrayed her.

"Sara…"

Her shoulder rose again, but this time her grin broke through. "I was just… You stayed in to watch the _Cubs_ play?"

His eyes lit up with amusement at her teasing. She'd been teasing him too the day of the attack. He stared at her, grateful yet again for her strength of character, her ability to make light of this situation, even after everything that had happened. "I don't like where this is going, Miss Sidle," he said in a jokey tone. "I'll have you know that it's a long standing tradition in the Grissom family, passed down from father to son since my great-great-grandfather who made Chicago his home back in the day." He paused suddenly, questions forming in his eyes and she nodded her head in understanding.

Her eyes took on a distant turn, staring blindly in front of her. She didn't speak for a long moment, and when she did her voice was low and calm, detached and devoid of emotion. It was as if what she was about to confide didn't really relate to her. "The first memory I got back of that day was so brief, a flashing image triggered by the song on the iPod." She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. "When my brain shut it down I knew what it was and that it was bad."

He nodded. "I spoke to Dr Williamson about it. He thinks that that's probably what caused the seizure."

"I know. The rest of the recollections came to me later and more gradually and jumbled, some in happy dreams and others in…"

"Nightmares," he said quietly when she faltered, and she nodded.

Her eyes had that faraway look again, but she was smiling. Her speech was slow, but remarkably clear. "I remember being really happy that day, laughing and joking as I kissed you goodbye before Hank and I left. You promised to make it up to me, cook me a celebratory chilli when the Cubs won. And you were so sure they would win."

She lapsed into silence. The slight darkening in her eyes told him she was gearing herself up to tell him about the worst of the memories, and he tried to prepare himself. "I don't remember getting to the park." Her face pursed and she shook her head. "I don't remember which way we went. I remember taking Hank off the lead. I remember stopping by some Indian Hawthorns – they were in full bloom and they smelt…" she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath as if by doing so she could just transport herself back there.

Her words were so quiet now he could hardly hear them. Her eyes reopened but she wasn't looking at him. "I remember wishing I'd thought to bring a ball for Hank to fetch…When I lost sight of him, I called and called for him to come but…he never did. The last thing I remember is being dragged backwards and losing my footing." She pinched her lips then, and he swallowed back his dread. Then she blew out a breath and brought her gaze back up to his. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, her words slurred now, but she smiled at him, a sad, pitiful downward curve of her lips that tugged at his heart. "I never saw them, Gil. Never saw them coming, never saw their faces."

"Oh, sweetheart…" he said, pulling her to him to ease her pain, ease _his_ pain, but she raised her arms, weakly pushing him away.

"I'm okay." She smiled again; her tears were spilling now and she wiped at them. "You know what the worst of it is? It's when in my dreams I see myself calling and calling for Hank to come and I'm looking everywhere for him and either I don't find him, or I find him…but I'm too late."

She was breathing hard now, her cheeks wet with tears, and he pulled her to him with force and held her there while he kissed her hair.

"Hank saved you," he said after a moment. "He was so brave." He paused and pulled back from her, seeking her gaze, finally ready to tell her everything. "Sara―"

"No." The word said firmly startled him into silence. "Not here. Let's put these demons to sleep once and for all."

It took a moment for him to understand what she meant; that she wanted them to go to Desert Breeze Park. A chill ran through him at the thought; he hadn't set foot there since the day of the attack, and neither had she. He tried a casual tone. "What, in this weather?"

She had that determined look about her face. "What's a little rain, huh? It's never stopped us in the past." She wiped at her eyes. "Besides I could do with some fresh air. What about you, Hank?" she called toward where the dog lay asleep, and he knew he was cornered. "Want to go walkies?" Immediately Hank's head snapped up and round toward them, ears pricked up in interest. "Let's just try it," she told him softly, "See what happens. We don't have to go all the way."

He wanted to say, 'No', that it was still too soon, that he wasn't ready. Sara was though, wasn't she? She'd been ready for a long time, and he'd been holding her back. Grissom sighed, his mouth pursing to the side, his eyes flicking from a resolute Sara to Hank lazily rising from his slumber, and he gave a grudging nod of his head.

When finally they were ready, the rain had eased off but the sky was still very dark and menacing and he didn't think they'd make it back before the next downpour. "We're going to get soaked," he laughed, juggling Hank's lead with opening the golf size umbrella he'd insisted they took, but Sara didn't reply, merely set off down the sidewalk toward the main street, and he followed.

As it was, they never made it to the park. Twenty minutes into their walk the heavens opened on them and laughing they took refuge under the first shelter they found, following the concrete side access ramp up to the front porch of the red-bricked St Christopher's church. Grissom closed the umbrella and Hank shook himself off, showering them with raindrops causing Sara to break into happy giggles while they waited for the rain to stop.

He felt strangely at peace there with the noise of the rain pounding against the porch roof muffling every other sound. It was impossible to talk, so they didn't, preferring instead to watch the rain fall over the busy street. Despite the time of day the street lights were on, illuminating the slanting rain. His eyes lifted beyond the street below to the western edge of Desert Breeze Park up ahead in the near distance.

"Let's go in," she called up to him when the rain showed no signs of letting up.

"Go in where?"

She jerked a nod to the church doors behind them.

He followed with his eyes. "We can't. Not with Hank."

"Why not?"

He paused. Why not indeed? He'd never been inside the church, and didn't think Sara had either, despite driving past it hundreds of times since they'd moved in the neighbourhood.

"We'll stay at the back," she said. "I just want to go in. I'm cold."

He pulled a dubious face at her, knowing full well that she wasn't cold, that the sweater and warm waterproof jacket he'd insisted she put on before they left made that an impossibility.

The doors could have been locked; there could have been a mass or an event going on. But as it was St Christopher's was totally silent and empty, and very much open. He didn't know what it was about the place, but as soon as he stepped inside after Sara, carefully closing the door, he felt enveloped by a calm and peace, a serenity which he couldn't begin to explain and which he hadn't felt in a very long time. Sara felt it too, he could tell, by the way she stared up, trancelike, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the stained glass window straight ahead of her beyond the altar. It was like she'd never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

Reeling Hank in on a very short leash he joined her side and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. They remained so, silently studying the intricate mosaic of colourful glass depicting the figure of Christ, angels and saints, for a long time. Without realising he began to talk, unburdening himself, putting into words his emotion and despair, his feelings of helplessness and devastation when he had found her, bloodied and beaten and left for dead in the park.

And the more he spoke, the easier the words came until they poured out of him, taking away with them the weight of his guilt. He spoke of the paramedics' vain efforts, of the fraught ride in the ambulance where he thought he'd lost her a second time, of how she got whisked away from his side before he had time to disembark and truly begin to make sense of what was happening, of how his life – their life – had irremediably changed.

He spoke of the long wait in the hospital while she was being operated on and of the doctors' bleak prognosis. He told her about how every time he closed his eyes she would come and talk to him in his head, help him through his ordeal, help him see a way out when there was nothing he could do to help _her_. He told her about her part in the investigation, about how bravely she'd fought against her attackers, injured one of them enough to give them his DNA.

And then he told her about going after Wallis, about what he'd almost done to the boy and messing everything up for her, but that at that point he'd thought he had nothing left to lose. He told her about McKay, about the crash and his fears that he'd die in the trunk of that car without ever seeing her again. He told her about how she'd come to him again, like an angel, a guardian angel, telling him to hang on, that it wasn't time and that help was on its way.

He left nothing unsaid, going as far as mentioning the living will she'd made but leaving out his and her mother's subsequent struggle with respecting her wishes, and Sara never interrupted, never asked anything, never pushed for more when he faltered. At some point in his account they'd moved further into the church and he'd sat down on a pew with Hank curled at his feet, but he didn't remember doing so.

He had been worried about her reaction on hearing the details of what had happened, of what he'd done; he had thought his words would unleash more recollections, repressed anger and resentment at the very least toward her attackers, toward him, but as she watched him as he spoke, that soft, compassionate smile ever-present on her face, he knew she was fine and much stronger than he ever would be. He understood then that she remembered a lot more about the events than she'd ever let on to him and that she'd probably only ever shared with him the good memories of their life together, keeping the bad ones to herself.

Exhausted, he eventually fell silent, instinctively lapsing into prayer with his eyes closed and his head bowed and resting on his clasped hands in front of him. How long for, he wasn't sure.

"I want us to get married here," Sara said when he finally looked up.

He snapped his head round at her with surprise. "What?"

"I want us to get married here," she repeated.

"I got that," he said, his frown deep. "What I meant is, why? You don't…believe in all this."

Her smile was as gentle and loving as her eyes. "But you do."

His frown morphed into a soft smile. "Not anymore, I don't."

She watched him for a moment, and he could tell she didn't fully believe that. "I want your mother to be there with us."

He laughed. "She would be. We don't have to get married in church for that to be so. She wouldn't mind."

She lifted her hand toward the stained window. "I want all our friends and family to share in this. I want everyone to see…to see how happy we are, how lucky we are. I want them to see how much we love each other. And this is the place." His brow lifted as he considered her words but before he had time to voice an opinion she added animatedly, "I want to wear a proper dress, and I want a bouquet. I want music and ringing church bells, and a cocktail party afterwards."

He opened his mouth to respond, but found he had no words. He laughed. "A cocktail party?"

She gave a definite nod. "I want everyone to be able to move around, mingle and talk, not be tied down to chairs."

Her last words gave him pause. "You've got this all worked out, haven't you?"

She flashed him a dazzling smile. "Yeah, I have."

He brought his hand up to her face, cupping her cheek, sealing their decision with a kiss. A week later as the sun shone brightly overhead they finally took that trip to the park. Children played, people met and talked and laughed, and instead of remembering the bad times there they had shared happy memories of strolls, impromptu picnics and playing ball with Hank.

"They're here!" a voice exclaimed from the back of the church, the words rippling through the congregation to his ears, refocusing him at once. As one, heads turned toward the main entrance. Grissom straightened up and pulled at his collar, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the tension. From his vantage point he couldn't see anything. With a look at Brass he checked his suit inner pocket for his wows. Not that he needed the script, the words forever imprinted in his memory, but as his mother used to say, 'it always pays to be prepared'.

Brass stood proudly, eyes steadfast on the door, the smile on his lips on the stiff side. His hand flew to his chest near the buttonhole, patting the pocket, and Grissom knew he was checking the rings were still there. Brass gave his arm a nudge, indicating the main doors with a jerk of his head. His heartbeat quickened. He blew out a short breath, then gave his head a nod and fixed his stare and bright smile to the church doors.

From the corner of his eye he saw Matthew take his place next to Vanessa, his hand seeking hers as they shared a smile before turning toward the back of the church. Lindsey and Sarah stood proudly there, blocking the view, wearing matching grins, hairdos and deep blue dresses and clutching small posies in front of them. Izzie had been made flower girl, and Clara brought her over, placing her in front of the two bridesmaids while having a quiet word to her ear and smoothing down her long dress.

As soon as her mother stepped away Izzie turned around and ran out of the doors, causing a chuckle to ripple through the congregation first and then a long, awed 'ah', and Grissom could only imagine the little girl had rushed to Sara waiting in the porch with Greg and her mother, and was now giving her a long hug. Izzie stepped back in holding Laura's hand and Laura gently ushered the two bridesmaids a little more inside the church. Sara was finally able to manoeuvre her chair over the threshold, making her grand entrance with Greg standing proudly by her side.

His heart leaped to see her like this, his soon-to-be bride. She looked radiant, resplendent in her dress. It wasn't a wedding dress as one would imagine, but it was white, elegant and simple, a floaty number that stopped just below the knees and covered her shoulders, fitting her slender frame perfectly. In her left hand she clutched a bouquet of classic white calla lilies, chosen he knew because they expressed simplicity and purity. Laura, Sarah and Lindsey held smaller versions of the bouquet while he, Greg, Brass and the two ushers wore matching buttonholes.

Her legs were bare, her feet encased in matching low-heeled pump she'd been breaking in for weeks now so the leather would be soft, moulded to the new stiffer shape of her feet. Her hair which she'd grown back to its former length was held up with a barrette, a silver family heirloom passed down from Laura's mother to Laura, and now Sara. He knew Sara was planning on passing it on to Sarah as a thank you for being bridesmaid.

Her eyes lifted, meeting his, the grin she gave him the widest and most beatific he'd ever seen. "You're ready for this?" shiny eyes asked him.

"Oh, yes," he replied silently, with a nod of the head, "I'm ready."

Greg had a word to her ear. She gave him a nod and he motioned to Warrick that they were ready. Warrick nodded back, then blew out a long breath, his fingers clenching and unclenching a few times before lowering to the keys of the piano they'd had brought in especially. Warrick had insisted that playing while Sara walked down the aisle and then when the two of them walked out as husband and wife was his gift to them, a gift particularly appreciated as Grissom knew that despite being a talented pianist Warrick seldom played to an audience.

As soon as the first notes of a much slowed rendition of Pachelbel's Canon in D major filled the chapel everyone stopped talking, standing up all at once, heads turned toward the chapel doors. Grissom repressed a nervous shiver then licked his lips, fingers twitching by his side. His hand lifted to his breast again, checking, but his eyes remained on Sara throughout. She sought his gaze again, and held it, the beaming smile on her face mirroring his own.

A look of uncertainty crossed her face, and she glanced down and then round at Greg, having a word to him. Greg had a moment of hesitation, then nodded his head and beckoned Matthew over before bending down in front of her. Grissom's smile faded, and he exchanged a puzzled look with Brass who just shrugged his shoulder mildly. When he turned back Greg was standing in front of Sara, helping her up onto her feet and away from the wheelchair which Matthew pushed to the side.

The breath caught in Grissom's throat. Sara briefly spoke to her brother whose face lit up suddenly, eyes shining with happiness and incredulity as he said something back to her. Still frowning, Grissom watched as both men moved to stand alongside Sara, Greg on her left, Matthew on her right, before clasping strong hands to her elbows. The look on both men's faces as they stared forward could never be any happier or prouder.

Grissom could have cried with pride at what she was doing. She caught Warrick's eye, mouthed 'sorry', and Warrick gave a chuckle, starting over from the top. Then she looked down the aisle straight at him, met his tender gaze and held it. Her face was solemn and he could read the nervousness in her eyes. His heart filled, his eyes too, and he smiled all the encouragement he could muster**. **He'd always known she'd walk the last steps to him, but not all the way. This was by far her biggest undertaking as far as walking was concerned, but it was also what she'd been working so hard towards all those past months.

Laura spoke and the bridesmaids started off, Izzie scattering white rose petals as they went. There was a catch in his breath as Sara took her first step, a tentative step forward, that first baby step before she fell into her slow but steady new gait pattern of right leg first followed by a swing of her left hip and slide of her left leg and foot, always her weaker side, guided along by Greg and her brother. When she got to three feet of him she stopped and he didn't close the distance to her. Greg kissed her cheek, then stepped away, Matthew hesitantly following suit, and they took their places, Matthew with Vanessa, and Greg in the front pew next to Catherine and the bridesmaids.

Sara's smile faded slightly and she blew a breath. Her eyes locked to his and she took a step, then another and another until she reached his side. Tears stood, poised in the corner of his eyes and reaching for her hand he helped her sit down on one of the dark Mahogany chairs with arms, in front of the priest. Without letting go of her hand he took the seat next to her, watching her lovingly as Warrick played the last notes of the wedding march.

Father Francis welcomed them and the guests into his church, opening the ceremony in the traditional manner. There wouldn't be a full mass, he explained, simply a blessing and of course, he laughed, the reason why everyone was gathered here, the marriage of Gil and Sara. Soon everyone stood, joining in the first hymn, which Sara had picked and he smiled on hearing her sing the words. She'd been practising hard. Then it was time for the first reading and Greg stood up, making his way to the lectern. He looked at the congregation, checked the marker on the page and wet his lips. The passage he was about to read had been one of Grissom's mother's favourites and chosen in her honour.

Swallowing, Greg fixed his eyes on Grissom and Sara. Grissom knew the younger man was nervous about doing the reading and he formed his lips into an encouraging smile, nodding his head to go ahead, that everything would be fine. Greg cleared his throat. Then he began to read, his voice clear despite his evident emotion.

"'If I speak in the tongues of men, or of Angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I have nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.'"

Greg paused briefly and looked up, staring directly at Sara. He didn't read the rest, just said it from memory. "'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.'"

Greg's voice wavered, the words fading, and he refocused blurry eyes onto the lectern. Grissom stole a glance at Sara, noticing the trembling of her lip and the shine in her eyes, and he was sure that if he looked behind him there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house for the younger man's address was as beautiful as it was heartfelt.

"'Love never fails," Greg went on, his emotion unconcealed now, "But where there are prophecies they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.'"

Grissom closed his eyes, and Greg's voice merged with that of his father reading the very same text during mass when he'd only been a young child, a text he had never really fully understood until now.

"'When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.'"

Greg blew a breath, a wide grin forming now that he had finished, and wiped a shaky hand to his eyes. Grissom turned toward Sara who had tears coursing down her face just in time to see her mouth her thanks to Greg. Father Francis thanked Greg too, then began his address, short and to the point. Afterwards he motioned to Brass that it was time for the rings. The captain moved forward with a start, his hand flying to his breast pocket, removing the square box with the rings in. Grissom and Brass exchanged a look and a smile, and standing Grissom took out Sara's wedding band.

"Before we move on to the more traditional vows," the priest said, addressing the congregation, "Gil has something he would like to say. Gil?"

Grissom nodded and half-turned toward Sara, taking her hand in his. She made to stand up, and he helped her, then smiled and swallowed and began speaking quietly, solemnly, eyes never leaving hers as he held her left hand, wedding ring poised, ready to be slipped on. "Sara. Until I met you, until I let you into my life, into my heart, and allowed myself to love you I didn't know what love was. And even then…it took what happened, it took me almost losing you, for me to truly, truly understand what that love is. How strong it is, how precious it is, how taken for granted it once was."

He paused. His smile trembled; his eyes filled, triggering new tears in Sara's. "Sara, all that I am, I give to you. All that I have, all that I do, all my dreams, I give to you. You _are_ all that I am, and always will be." Again he stopped, glanced at Father Francis and nodded his head, then turning back toward Sara, recited the traditional vows. "I, Gilbert Grissom, take you, Sara Sidle, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part." He swallowed, and grinning into her eyes slipped the ring on her finger before turning back to Father Francis.

"I've prepared somethingtoo," Sara said.

Grissom snapped his head round to her with surprise. His brow creased enquiringly, but she just smiled sweetly at him. She opened and closed her mouth several times and he could tell she was forming words in her head.

"There is nothing tofear," she said at last, her expression serious as she stared at him, "for I am here besideyou for the restof mylife, for the restof ourlives I am yours." Grissom's frown deepened; his heart quickened as he recognised the words he had spoken to her when he'd pledged his love to her that first time, when he thought her gone. Could she really remember? Had Brass or Laura said something to her maybe? She paused and formed more words. "Whatever the outcome, whatever happensnext, we'll be forever joined in ourhearts."

Grissom could only stare at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Sara's hand reached to his face, wiping tears from his cheek. Father Francis was about to talk when Grissom gasped, "You remember?"

Sara's hand lowered, and giving him a soft smile she nodded her head.

"Sara?" the priest said. "Would you like to repeat after me?"

Refocusing, Sara shook her head and smiled at the priest. "No. Cando it." She turned to Brass who placed Grissom's wedding band between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, and repeating the same vows Grissom had only just uttered shakily slid it on his finger. Movement beyond Sara's shoulder caught his eye and he looked up to see Laura, smiling and crying all at once while gingerly dabbing at her eyes, and he knew exactly how she felt.

Afterwards, as they were all gathered outside the church, chatting after posing for the mandatory photos, a hand fell on Grissom's shoulder. He excused himself from talking to Ecklie and Dr Williamson, turning his head round toward Maddy stood on the step above, brushing confetti off his suit. Smiling she offered him her warm congratulations and they met half-way for a peck on the cheek.

"Sorry we were late," she said with a bright smile.

He waved her apology aside. "We're just glad you and John could make it."

She swept her eyes over the pockets of guests milling about outside St Christopher's. "So you finally decided to take my advice, huh?"

"And what advice was that?" he asked, feigning puzzlement.

She picked up his left hand, studied the plain gold band on his finger and met his gaze. "You know very well," she said, grinning. "I can't believe you went the whole hog, though**. **I would have put you down as a…get-married-in-front-of-the-county-clerk-with-two-witnesses kind of guy."

"You'd have been wrong." Smiling, Grissom looked over his shoulder at the church. "This is a special place for us."

Maddy followed his gaze. "It was a beautiful wedding, Gil, thank you for making us a part of it."

He turned back toward her. "We wouldn't have had it any other way."

Maddy's smile was very fond, then saddened as a shadow crossed her face. "I heard about…" she shrugged, "about you having to drop the suit against the Department." Her hand moved to his shoulder, patting it gently. "I'm sorry."

"We'll manage," he replied, shrugging her concern off. His eyes briefly flicked off Maddy's face, scanning the vicinity for signs of Sara. "Besides, the Department came through for us in the end when it didn't have to."

And it had. When Grissom had tendered his resignation from CSI to Ecklie, recommending Catherine for the job, unbeknown to him the lab director had spoken to Sheriff Burdick, who after careful consideration – and no doubts a meeting with the mayor – had rejected Grissom's resignation, offering instead for him to retire on health grounds, keeping up with his pension and medical insurance, which Grissom had gladly and gratefully accepted.

Ever since Sara had been discharged from the centre from in-patient to out-patient status back in December, moving back home permanently, he had become her primary caregiver. Sara's weekday routine was still very much the same as before as far as her various physical therapies were concerned which allowed him a little free time to himself. Laura still made the commute, staying with them at the weekends, and it seemed that the arrangement suited everyone just fine. They'd even organised a small get-together at home with the team at Christmas time, and Matthew, Vanessa and Sarah had flown over for New Year.

Maddy gave him a solemn nod. "You look good," she said at last, "Like you put on a little weight. It suits you."

Clara moved into his eye line and his gaze flicking to her he smiled.

"Anyway," Maddy said, "Seems there's a line for your attention so I'll make myself scarce." She brushed her lips to his cheek, wiping her fingers over the smudge of red lipstick afterwards. "Save me a dance later, will you?" Pulling back from him she turned and threw a wide smile at Clara. "He's all yours."

"Maddy," he said, "Can I introduce you to Clara, another dear friend of mine?" He paused and took Clara's hand. "Clara, this is Maddy Klein, an old friend."

"Not so old," Maddy laughed. The two women exchanged brief pleasantries, and then Maddy excused herself. "I'd better go find my husband," she said.

Grissom nodded, watching as Maddy went in search of John, stopping here and there to greet or be greeted, before refocusing his attention on Clara. Immediately, the younger girl opened up her arms, enveloping him in a tight hug. "Congratulations," she said, "it was very special."

Grissom closed his arms around her, warmly returning the embrace, thinking her words over. Yeah, he thought, special was just the right word.

"You look good," they both said in unison as they pulled back, and laughed.

"I feel good," Clara said. "This new heart's ticking like clockwork, and the new pills I'm on don't make me so tired. For the first time in forever I can do all the things everybody takes for granted and not get out of breath."

Her enthusiasm was heart-warming, and wrapping his arm around her shoulders again Grissom kissed her forehead. "I'm so happy for you. Where are Duke and the kids?"

"Gone potty," she replied.

He frowned but then remembered the joke and laughed. "I can't believe how much they've grown."

"Tell me about it! It's hard to keep up," she said, seemingly regretting her words for her expression darkened, and he knew why.

"Duke's still out of work?" he asked a little edgily.

Clara's face softened. "We're doing okay," she said, "So don't go worrying about it." Her smile returning she gave his elbow a nudge. "I've decided to make the most of the free childcare and go back to school."

"You have?"

She nodded proudly. "I'm going to take a course in childcare at college. Might as well get paid for doing what I've always been doing. And there's always work in childcare, right?"

"Right," he agreed, his eyes absently scanning the porch for Sara. "Seems I've already lost my bride," he said in a disbelieving chuckle.

"She was talking to some people over there," Clara said with a vague wave of her hand, and turning to look where she'd indicated he pursed his face.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," a little girl's voice whined from their feet.

Grissom looked down and smiled. "Hello Izzie," he said, causing the little girl to hide behind her mother's legs. "It's strange how she took to Sara so quickly but still seems scared of me," he told Clara before crouching down to Izzie's level. "You're hungry, huh? Well, can I let you in on a little secret?" Izzie gave him a very eager nod and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know where the cake is. It's really big and white and I know for a fact that it's got chocolate inside."

Her eyes widened. "Chocolate?"

He gave her an overly slow nod of the head. "It's my favourite."

"Me too," Izzie said, grinning, and laughing he reached across and gently tapped her on the nose.

"Gil?" Laura called, and he refocused his grin on Sara's mother, "I just got a call from the caterers. They're all set."

"Where's Sara?"

"With Jim."

He nodded then turned back toward Izzie and Clara, holding out a hand to both of them. "Shall we?"

The reception was a small affair, in St Christopher's church hall which doubled up as a community hall, located down a path at the side of the church to a small enclosed courtyard. Catherine, Lindsey and Lily had spent part of the morning decorating the room with white balloons and flowers while the caterers had done the rest, organising food and drinks in a buffet-style setting. Music would be provided throughout by a local lounge singer and her band, as per Sara's wishes.

After everyone had been greeted and thanked and most of the food had been eaten and the cake cut and served and flutes had been filled it was time for the toast, and Brass, as best man, went up on the small stage, smiling as the singer stepped back to make place for him. They exchanged a quick word and Brass stepped up to the microphone, clearing his throat to get everyone's attention. The room fell silent, all heads turning toward him, drinks in hand. The top button of his shirt was undone, the tie loosened, his suit jacket long discarded. He looked slightly nervous despite the happy twinkle in his eyes. He blew a breath, and pulled out of his pocket a folded sheaf of paper.

"I'll try not to make anyone cry," he said with a waggle of his brows at Greg, causing heads to turn toward the younger man and laughter to ripple through the guests. Grissom brought a chair over and sat down next to Sara, taking her hand in his as they watched Brass. The latter took his time unfolding his speech before looking up. "Generally when I address this many people," he said, his voice loud and solemn, "something bad's happened and I'm briefing my men. But not today. Today is a happy day, one of the proudest days of my life."

He gave a nervous laugh, checked his notes and his eyes seeking Grissom and Sara in the small crowd launched into his speech. "Okay, so first I'd like to thank everyone for coming and sharing in Grissom and Sara's big day. I think we all agree that the whole ceremony was…was…" he shrugged, visibly at a loss for the right word.

"Beautiful," someone shouted.

"Magical," called someone else.

"Awesome," Alex said, causing more laughter from the guests.

"I was going to say, perfect," Brass said, "But awesome fits the bill just right." He paused, his expression sobering as he met Grissom's eyes. "Gil, I would like to thank you – personally thank you – for choosing _me_ as your best man. I was honoured and privileged both times." Grissom swallowed and gave him a solemn nod of acknowledgement. Then Brass flicked his eyes to Sara, his face filling with affection. "Sara, seeing you today…what you did, what you do on a daily basis, it's beyond belief." His voice broke with emotion and he paused, lowering his eyes while he composed himself. "I am so very proud of you and in awe of what you've accomplished so far and will be accomplishing in the future. So thank you, Sara, for making me – for making us – a part of today."

There were collective words of agreement among the crowd. Grissom turned toward Sara and watched the emotion on her face. Leaning across he brushed his lips to her cheek and she fixed her bright smile on him.

"While I'm doing the thanks," Brass went on more cheerfully, "on behalf of our newlyweds I need to thank all the people who had a hand, big or small, in making today at all possible." Once again he consulted his notes, diligently thanking by name everyone involved. "Now, last but not least," he said afterwards, "I know the invites specified 'no gift', that our presence here with you today was gift enough, but…well, I…" he opened his hand out to include everyone, "_we_ couldn't have that. So, we had a little whip-round the station and then word got out and…you got a load of friends, Sara Sidle, that's for sure, because—"

"Grissom," Catherine called.

Brass frowned, then laughed and acknowledged Catherine's interruption with a nod. "That's going to take some getting used to," he said, to more agreement from the guests. "Anyway, as I was saying, you got a load of friends because…" Pausing, he reached in his inner pocket again and took out an envelope while beckoning Grissom and Sara over to him. The newlyweds shared a puzzled look, and Grissom stood and they made their way to Brass. "This is for both of you," the captain said, holding out the envelope to Grissom, "From all of us, and a few others that couldn't be here with us today." And Heather Kessler had been one of them.

When Grissom reached for the envelope his hand was shaking. He glanced down at Sara who was watching Brass with questions in her eye and then at all the guests who were watching them with fond looks on their faces. Some even had tears in their eyes. Grissom felt numb and completely overwhelmed by so much love and care, but lifting the envelope in the air he jerked an uncomfortable nod of thanks before lowering his eyes back to Sara.

"Let's raise our glasses to Gil and Sara," Brass exclaimed joyfully, "To the bride and groom."

"To the bride and groom," echoed everyone.

Grissom turned the envelope over in his hand. "Did you know about this?" he asked Sara.

But before she could reply a small crowd began gathering around them and Brass jumped off the stage. "So aren't you going to open it?"

"I don't know what to say," Grissom said, eyes lifting to Brass.

"Whatis it?" Sara asked.

Grissom opened the envelope with shaky hands before giving the contents to Sara. "Plane tickets?" she gasped with surprise.

"Return flights to New York," Catherine said quietly.

Grissom was struggling to take it all in. "New York?" he repeated uncertainly.

"And enough money to cover for accommodation for the duration of your stay," Brass said.

"A honeymoon?" Sara whispered.

"Of sorts," Warrick replied, causing Grissom to frown.

"It was your brother's doing," Laura said. She looked up, seeking Matthew with her eyes, and smiled. "He got it all organised."

"Well, with Sara's doctor's approval, of course." Matthew's shoulder lifted. His eyes met Grissom's confused ones, and he began to explain. "I don't know if you remember me telling you about this doctor from Yale, you know…" his eyes flicked down to Sara meaningfully and Grissom nodded that he remembered, that when Matthew had objected to following Sara's wishes of turning the life support machine off he had called some eminent neurosurgeon for a second opinion which in the end hadn't been needed, "Well, he's…kind of kept abreast of Sara's recovery, you know from a medical interest, and late January I…got a call from him telling me about this confrere of his from New York who needed patients at different stages of recovery for a new medical trial, and he thought Sara would be a perfect candidate."

"What kind of trial?" Grissom asked, stealing the words from Sara's mouth.

Matthew's gaze moved from Grissom to his sister and he smiled. "They've developed some new robotic technology using electromechanical devices to help patients learn to walk again independently, with as close to a normal gait as possible."

Sara's eyes lifted to Dr Williamson, seeking confirmation. "It's still very much in its infant stages," he said with a smile, "and won't be available to the likes of us for another few years." He met Grissom's eyes. "It's a great opportunity."

"What kind of results―"

"No one knows as yet," Dr Williamson cut in, "But it's the way forward. Besides what have you got to lose?"

"Howmuch willit cost?" Sara asked.

Matthew's smile softened with affection. "Well, all the medical expenses are covered by grant money. As for the rest…" he let his words trail with a shrug, his eyes flicking to the guests gathered all around and watching.

Grissom dropped his gaze to Sara whose face was shining with giddy delight. He blew a breath, reaching for her hand. "Wow! I don't know what to say."

"Thankyou," Sara said.

"Yes," Grissom echoed with a tearful sweep of his eyes taking in all the guests, "Thank you." He dropped Sara's hand to offer his to Matthew, which Matthew shook with a bright smile. Then he extended it to Dr Williamson and a few more of his friends before eventually stopping at Brass, pulling him in a tight emotional embrace.

Conversations started up again; people drifted off in small pockets, talking and laughing animatedly. At some point the band resumed playing, but to Grissom it felt unreal, as though it was happening to someone else and he was watching from far away, too stunned and overwhelmed by such love and consideration to really take any of it in. Some time later, Clara and her family came to say goodbye and more hugs and congratulations were exchanged. Sara showed no signs of tiring, though, as she listened intently to the team tell stories after stories of the weirdest case files they'd investigated over the years. She was laughing delightedly at something Greg had said when Laura slipped past him to talk to her. He watched them interact but the soft music and voices around him prevented him from hearing what was being said.

"Is everything okay?" he asked when Laura pulled back from Sara.

"Absolutely," Laura replied with a bright smile. "I won't keep her long."

Sara gave him a wink as she backed up her chair before following her mother. Frowning he watched them move to the opposite side of the hall. Something was going on he wasn't in the know about. Giving his head a shake, he refocused on Nick finishing telling his rapt and slightly disgusted-looking audience about shopping in _Forever Baby_ when investigating the death of Bruce Eiger. Suddenly, the music in the background changed tempo. His ears pricked up, his head turning toward the lounge singer launching into a new song, his face lighting up as he finally understood what Sara was up to. He turned back toward the main body of the hall, his eyes scanning for his wife. She was nowhere to be seen. The conversation stopped behind him and he could feel the eyes of his friends on him.

"Griss, is everything okay?" Warrick asked.

Silently he made for one of the open side doors, leaving everyone to exchange puzzled glances and shrugs. He didn't notice when Warrick opened his hand, inviting his wife to the dance floor, and then when Brass did the same to Catherine. He didn't see Matthew and Vanessa, holding hands as they spoke to Maddy and John, or the many heads that turned his way. He just walked straight across the room to the French doors, pushing the drapes aside and stepping out onto the dimly-lit courtyard between the church and hall.

Sara turned, her mouth twisted up in a knowing smile when she saw it was him. The breath caught in his throat as he thought of how stunning she looked in her wedding dress and her face in shadow as she stood carefully holding on to a lamppost. He looked around for signs of Laura, but she'd made herself scarce, as had the smokers that had congregated there throughout the evening. His expression solemn, darkened by love and desire, he covered the distance to her and they stared at each other while _Cheek to Cheek_ was being sung indoors.

"I think this is the moment when I ask you to dance," he said, his voice shy with uncertainty.

Sara swallowed, her lips pinching to stop their quavering. "Yes, I think itis," she replied just as diffidently.

His heart was pounding. He opened out his right hand and she took it, carefully stepping forward toward him, and he pulled her close, one hand clutching her hand tightly while the other lightly rested on the bare skin just below her shoulder blade. Eyes closed and cheek to cheek they danced, a slow shuffle of feet more or less on the spot, but a dance nonetheless. How magical was this moment, he wondered? Who would have thought it possible only a year ago?

"You know he's filming us, right?" Grissom said about Greg as the song drew to an end.

He felt Sara's smile on his cheek. "I'm counting onit."

Grissom stopped dancing. "In that case," he said in her ear, "let's give them something to talk about." He pulled back from her, then pushed a tendril of hair out of her eyes and framing her face leaned in for a kiss. His eyes closed. His hands moved to the back of her head and when Sara's lips parted he gave in to his overwhelming urge and deepened the kiss.

"Oh, gross," he heard Sarah say from behind them, and then Lindsey's giggly, "get a room!" followed by a loud "Sshh" from Greg.

Smiling, they pulled apart and Grissom reached down to scoop his new bride up in his arms. Sara let out a whoop of surprise, her ensuing giggle of delight filling the silence all around them. "I think it's time we made tracks," he said, laughing as he slowly twirled her in his arms, and began to walk away.

"Grissom, where are you going?" Greg exclaimed.

"Duty calls, Greg," he called without turning.

"You can't just leave! You haven't said goodbye to anyone!"

Laughing, Sara reached up a hand to his cheek, and he could see his yearning mirrored in her eyes. "Goodbye, Greg!" she called, and then in a giggly whisper, "Put me down. My chair'sover there. You're going to doyourself an inju—."

The only way to shut her up was to kiss her, and so he did.


End file.
